THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 


FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
R.  BENNETT  WEAVER 


LYRICS  IN  PROSE  AND  VERSE 


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MAY  PRESTON  SLOSSON 


TO  MY  HUSBAND 
AND 

MY  SON 


THE  GARDEN 

They  had  drawn  very  near  each  other,  altho 
twenty  years  lay  between  them.  Both  were  tall 
and  strong  and  beautiful,  tho  in  the  eyes  of  one 
Hope  smiled,  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  other  Memory 
brooded.  The  Woman  spoke  softly  to  the  girl: 
"Will  you  walk  in  my  garden?"  And  the  girl 
knew  she  had  received  the  highest  honor. 

They  entered  the  garden  thru  a  low  gate  about 
which  morning-glories  twined.  And  the  girl 
smiled  at  the  flowers  all  about  her,  for  they  were 
the  frank  favorites  of  childhood.  They  grew  in 
her  own  garden. 

As  they  passed  on  they  reached  paths  flecked 
with  doubtful  sunshine,  wandering  among  tall  lilies 
like  white  dreams,  and  the  girl  looked  at  her  com 
panion  sisterwise,  for  it  was  all  like  her  own 
garden. 

But  they  strayed  on  into  a  band  of  rose-hued 
light  athwart  the  path.  Red  roses  were  all 
around  them,  climbing  over  sweet  arbors,  fling 
ing  sprays  of  vivid  color  to  the  very  top  of  the 
garden  wall,  which  had  suddenly  grown  high, 
shutting  them  into  a  secret  place  of  glowing  crim 
son  and  rich  fragrance,  as  tho  they  had  paused 
in  the  very  heart  of  a  rose.  Red  petals  fluttered 
about  their  feet.  The  girl  blushed,  for  she  knew 
the  meaning  of  the  riot  of  roses.  Still  she  did 
not  speak,  for  the  spell  of  silence  lay  upon  the 
ruby  close. 


Then  came  they  into  a  sweeter  place  still,  where 
the  flower  beds  were  little  and  low  and  fringed 
with  the  feathery  plant  known  as  "Baby's  Breath," 
and  the  girl  spoke  not  for  reverence  of  the  place. 
At  last  they  stood  by  such  a  little  bed  covered  with 
white  violets,  and  their  breath  was  faint  and  sweet. 
The  girl  spoke  at  last.  "How  could  you  bear 
it?"  And  again,  in  a  sort  of  passion:  "How 
can  one  ever  bear  it?"  The  woman  said:  "It 
must  be  borne!" 

But  the  girl's  tears  dropped  fast  upon  the  bed 
of  violets  and  rebellion  filled  her  heart  for  a  grief 
she  had  not  known.  "How  came  the  violets 
here?"  "They  did  not  grow  at  first.  The 
ground  was  raw  and  red  like  a  wound — but  they 
came — at  last — one  by  one — dear  little  memories 
and  tender  thoughts  until  the  bed  was  covered  as 
you  see." 

Peace  filled  the  troubled  heart  of  the  girl.  She 
lifted  her  head  and  both  faced  the  western  wall 
of  the  garden.  Against  it  flamed  the  rich  colors 
of  autumn  foliage,  asters  and  golden-rod  gleamed 
among  the  purpling  grass,  their  faces  glowed  in 
the  sunset  light.  The  woman  spoke  softly: 

"The  garden  is  not  quite  finished.  There  are 
new  flowers  to  be  planted  at  the  end,  rue  and 
rosemary  and  heart's  ease.  I  have  shown  you 
all  that  Innocence,  Love  and  Grief  have  planted, 
but  there  are  more  beds  to  be  made  by  hands  un 
seen.  But  I  do  not  fear  them." 

And  the  garden  was  very  sweet  as  the  twilight 
fell. 


LITTLE  BROTHER 

Playing  in  the  city  street, 

Little  Brother ! 

Running  errands  with  swift  feet; 
Passing  me  with  footsteps  fleet; 
Ought  we  not  to  know  each  other — 

Little  Brother? 

Care  comes  early  at  our  call — 

Little  Brother ! 
Far  too  heavy  burdens  fall 
On  your  shoulders,  slight  and  small, 
Would  that  I  could  lift  them  all, 

Little  Brother ! 

In  the  world's  relentless  mart, 

Little  Brother ! 

Each  must  bear  his  manly  part, 
Earn  his  bread  with  toil  and  smart — 
But  your  courage  breaks  my  heart, 

Little  Brother ! 

Surely  there  are,  unconfessed, 

Little  Brother ! 

Longings  in  your  boyish  breast? 
Teach  me  how  to  help  you  best — 
How  we  each  may  help  the  other — 

Little  Brother ! 


TROVE 

We  do  not  "make"  our  friends — we  find  them 
only, 

Where  they  have  waited  for  us  weary  years; 
Some  day  we  wander  forth  a  little  lonely 

When  lo !  a  comrade  at  our  side  appears. 

'Tis  not  "discovery" — 'tis  recognition, 

A  glance,  a  greeting,  and  we  grasp  the  hand. 

No  explanation  needed — no  condition — 
That  we  are  friends  at  once  we  understand. 

And  if  our  paths  divide — if  we  must  sever — 
Eyes  turn  away,  and  clinging  hands  must  part — 

It  matters  not,  for  we  are  friends  forever. 
Distance  may  darken,  but  not  hush  the  heart. 

We  serve  them  out  of  eager  love — not  duty. 

And  none  so  safe  as  he  whom  love  defends! 
The  tender  words  of  Christ  assume  new  beauty: 

"Henceforth  not  servants — I  have  called  you 
friends!" 


THE  LITTLE  HAND 

I  know  a  little  velvet  palm 

Pink  as  rose-petals,  softly  curled, 

Or  sea-shell  tints  of  sunsets  calm — 
Prettiest  hand  in  all  the  world ! 

And  tiny  fingers  curl  and  cling 

About  my  own  with  pressure  dear, 

As  a  wee  bird,  with  downy  wing 
Flutters,  till  it  forgets  to  fear. 

Oh,  mother !  mother !  gently  hold 
The  little  hand  that  rests  in  yours, 

Care  not  o'ermuch  for  place  or  gold 
Love  is  the  one  thing  that  endures. 

Resolve  to  make  the  young  heart  light 
With  pleasures  pure  and  happy  song 

What  joy  to  lead  in  ways  of  right — 
What  anguish  to  have  led  in  wrong! 

The  baby  hand  with  perfect  trust 
Is  placed  in  yours  to  be  controlled; 

Love  must  be  brave,  and  wise,  and  just — 
These  dimpled  hands  the  future  hold ! 


MY  LITTLE  BOY 

The  other  children  grow  so  tall ! 

I  would  not  wish  it  otherwise, 
And  yet — we  mothers  lose  them  all, 

They  grow  to  Men  before  our  eyes- 
My  little,  little  boys ! 

But  he,  who  slipped  away  in  Spring, 
Six  summers  on  his  shining  head, 

His  baby  eyes  still  wondering, 

He  only,  tho  long  years  have  sped, 
Is  still  my  little  boy. 


SONG 

A  little  bird  sat  on  a  snowy  bough 

And  shook  a  song  from  his  silver  throat 

So  full  of  summer  one  would  avow 
June  sunlight  quivered  in  every  note ! 

And  as  singing  he  fluttered  far  away 

Leaving  melodious  memories, 
Brightness  and  beauty  denied  the  day, 

Blossomed  instead  on  the  barren  trees. 

Dwelling  amid  the  snows  too  long 
Earth's  glad  music  we  may  forget, 

Till  some  little  bird  sings :  "A  land  of  song, 
And  of  sunshine,  somewhere,  lingers  yet !' 


10 


THE  SUM  OF  HAPPINESS 

I 

A  little  room — a  lonely  place — 
In  cheerless  order,  dull  and  dun; 

It  lacks  a  single  touch  of  grace — 
A  table  set  for  one ! 

II 

A  tiny  house — a  cheerful  fire — 

And  everything  so  bright  and  new; 

All  that  a  glad  heart  could  desire : 
A  table  set  for  two ! 

Ill 

A  little  house  brimful  of  noise, 

Disorderly  as  it  can  be — 
Chairs  upside  down  and  scattered  toys; 

A  table  set  for  three ! 


WITHERED  DREAMS 

The  lilies-of-the-valley  in  my  vase 
Have  faded  to  a  shadowy  bouquet; 

Each  perfect,  pallid  petal  keeps  its  grace — 
Ghost-flowers  are  they. 

The  fairy  carillons  of  fragrant  bells, 

Love's  bridal-bells  that  swing  so  merrily, 

No  longer  ring;  their  silver  music  dwells 
In  muted  memory. 


II 


KANSAS 

Wide  the  horizon  and  wide  the  skies, 

Limitless  leagues  of  prairie  melt 
Into  haze,  as  azure  as  baby's  eyes. 

Afar  in  the  distance  a  sapphire  belt, 
Call  it  cestus  of  Venus,  or  what  you  will, 
Everywhere  beauty  that  wakes  a  thrill ! 

Draw  a  long  breath  of  vivid  air. 

Drink  your  fill  of  the  prairie's  wine 
Colored  with  sunlight,  flavored  rare 

With  the  fragrance  of  flowers.     See  the  shine 
And  glitter  of  dew-drops  on  every  hand, 
And  own  your  love  for  our  Western  land ! 

The  meadow-lark  sings  his  cheery  song 
Bold  and  clear  as  a  trumpet's  call; 

Butterflies  hover,  a  radiant  throng, 

Above  blossoms  as  bright;  and  over  all 

The  sky  smiles  ever,  without  a  trace 

Of  a  frowning  cloud  upon  its  face. 

Let  us  try  a  race  with  the  breeze ! 

He  has  stopped  to  whisper  to  the  grass 
Some  pretty  secret  told  by  the  bees 

In  a  hurried  murmur  as  they  pass 
Hastening  to  orchards,  pink  and  white, 
Ablush  with  bloom  in  their  young  delight ! 


12 


Let  us  be  happy — the  world  is  so ! 

Let  the  blood  flow  with  jubilant  rush 
Thru  our  veins,  and  health  and  vigor  glow 

In  the  cheeks  that  for  very  gladness  flush. 
Let  us  not  believe  that  the  earth  is  old — 
She  is  young!     And  ours  is  the  Age  of  Gold! 


THE  NATION'S  BURDEN 

Against  the  background  grim  of  sullen  strife 
Floats  a  pure  pennon  with  its  cross  of  peace; 

It  speaks  of  love — not  hate — not  death — but  life; 
It  promises  the  dreamed-of  day  when  war  shall 
cease, 

When  none  shall  write  of  custom,  race  or  creed, 
Manhood  itself  shall  hold  mankind  in  awe, 

Each  nation's  only  burden  others'  need 

And  sympathy  shall  hold  the  silken  bonds  of 
law. 

When  man — white,  black  or  red,  or  what  you  will, 
Will  read  upon  that  flag  which  floats  above : 

"Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens" — thus  fulfil 
The  law  of  Christ;  the  love  of  law — the  law  of 
love! 

1917. 


BON  VOYAGE 

O  stars,  beam  kindly  on  my  lad 

A-sailing  on  the  sea, 
Thru  happy  nights  serene  and  glad 

Guiding  him  back  to  me. 
O  sea  winds,  sweetly,  softly  blow 

Across  a  quiet  sea 
To  kiss  his  cheek  and  whisper  low 

A  little  word  from  me. 
Impatient  tides,  that  pace  the  strand, 

O  wide  and  sundering  sea, 
A  pathway  make  from  that  far  land, 

Leading  him  home  to  me. 
1918. 


TWO  CATHEDRALS 

St.  John  the  Divine  and  Notre  Dame  de  Rheims 

I  watch  the  patient  masons  in  the  sun 
Building  a  House  to  God  upon  the  hill 

That  overhangs  the  city;  just  begun 

The  toil  of  years — the  care — the  loving  skill. 

Another  minster  lifted  arch  and  spire 

By  patient  builders  wrought  in  futile  trust. 

The  Iron  Eagle  dropt  a  plume  of  fire — 
And  all  its  beauty  is  a  heap  of  dust! 

1914. 

14 


MOTHER-EYES 

About  the  busy  city,  to  and  fro, 

On  myriad  errands  many  women  go. 

And  I,  who  watch  them,  think  I've  learned  to  know 

The  brooding  look  of  love  in  mother-eyes. 

(It  may  be  memory  has  made  me  wise.) 

Under  a  cloud  of  slowly  silvering  hair 
They  look  from  tired  faces  worn  with  care; 
Or  under  youthful  foreheads  smooth  and  fair; 
And  everywhere  the  stranger  child  replies 
With  answering  smile' to  love  in  mother-eyes. 

Sometimes  the  tender  mother-eyes  are  filled 
With  wistful  memories,  and  sorrow  stilled 
By  patient  years;  or,  hope  and  longing  build 
A  rainbow  bridge  across  the  clouded  skies 
Reflected  in  the  depths  of  mother-eyes. 

Sometimes,  the  happy  mother-eyes  confess 
A  waiting  group  at  home,  as  they  caress 
All  little  children  with  their  tenderness ; 
And  every  hope  of  all  the  nations  lies 
In  that  unmeasured  love  in  mother-eyes ! 


THE  CHRIST  CHILD 

We  mothers  are  so  happy  who  have  had 
Sweet  baby  faces  pressed  against  our  own 
And  loving  little  arms  around  us  thrown 
While  clinging,  rosy  fingers  made  us  glad ! 

We  are  so  happy  that  a  little  while 
The  merry  music  of  their  dancing  feet 
Made  life  a  song  of  praise  for  gift  so  sweet, 
The  tender  sunlight  of  a  baby's  smile ! 

We  could  not  keep  them !     Chary  of  caress, 
To  manhood's  measure  some  of  them  have  grown, 
Children  no  longer.     Some  of  them  have  flown 
Into  the  land  so  still  and  answerless. 

Yet  we  are  happy  to  have  held  the  gold 
Of  precious  hours  and  days  that  could  not  last. 
No  loss  can  take  from  us  the  perfect  Past ! 
We  have  them  yet  in  memory's  firm  hold. 

And  so  we  mothers  do  not  need  the  fine, 
Sweet  lesson  of  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem; 
Our  children  taught  us  when  we  looked  at  them 
That  life  and  babyhood  are  both  divine ! 


16 


ACROSS  THE  WAY 

Across  the  way  there  was  sunshine ;  whether 
We  walked  thru  clear  or  thru  cloudy  weather 
The  loveliest  cherub  cheered  each  day — 
Till  we  learned  to  look,  when  skies  were  gray, 
For  the  baby-blossom  across  the  way. 

When  disheartened  over  our  daily  labor, 
What  a  comfort  was  our  little  neighbor ! 
For  the  glimpse  of  beauty  ours  each  day, 
A  debt  that  love  alone  could  repay, 
We  owed  the  baby  across  the  way. 

But  to-night  our  hearts  are  full  of  sorrow 
As  we  sadly  think  that  on  the  morrow 
No  beautiful  face  will  brighten  our  day. 
O  vanished  rosebud!     No  words  can  say 
How  we  miss  the  baby  across  the  way. 

The  light  is  darkened,  and  we  are  lonely, 
And  our  guests  are  Grief  and  Longing  only. 
"O  Father  in  Heaven,  grant,"  we  pray, 
"In  thy  many  mansions  some  future  day 
We  may  find  our  baby  across  the  way!" 


"REFUSING  TO  BE  COMFORTED" 

"Time  cureth  grief?"     Ah,  mentor,  what  is  time? 
So  many  revolutions  'round  the  sun — 
So  many  circling  seasons — have  mere  years 
Such  power  then?     To  make  memory  a  crime? 
Forbid  the  bitter-sweet  relief  of  tears? 
Unclasp  the  clinging  fingers  one  by  one 
That  press  a  dead  joy  to  an  empty  heart? 
"Time  cureth  grief?"      Must  we  then  part 

0  Grief,  old  comrade?     From  my  past 

1  have  lost  all  else — must  I  lose  thee  at  last? 

STAR-LIGHT 

Two  clear  gray  eyes  shine  on  me  thru  the  mist 
Of  many  months  and  years  that  roll  between ; 
Still  lingers  on  my  life  their  light  serene 
And  sweet,  by  calm  thoughts  into  quiet  kissed. 
Twin  planets  of  my  destiny 

May  I  not  fail  or  fall ! 
Yet  of  those  eyes  that  smile  on  me 

A  memory  is  all ! 

Forever  vanished  is  the  fair  young  face 
Wherein  I  used  to  look  with  longing  love ; 
But,  as  when  stars  are  blotted  out  above 
Their  ling'ring  light  long  undulates  thru  space 
And  shines  on  sleeping  worlds  below — 

My  star-light  still  doth  fall 
Upon  my  heart,  a  silver  glow, 

A  memory — yet  all ! 
Sept.  1897. 

18 


TO  THE  FUTURE 

O  mystic  eyes,  we  may  not  see, 

Unknown  veiled  face ! 
Our  hopes,  our  dreams  are  all  of  thee 

And  give  thee  grace. 

Dear  thy  dreamed  image  to  our  heart, 

Is  thoughtful  brows, 
Sweet  mouth  whose  closed  lips  never  part 

For  spoken  vows. 

Eloquent  silence !  more  than  speech 

It  moves  the  soul : 
No  open  books  such  lessons  teach 

As  thy  shut  scroll. 

O  deep,  sad  eyes !  our  sorrows  are 

Your  unshed  tears : 
O  strange,  sweet  smile !  auspicious  star 

Of  happy  years; 

Only  the  ante-room  of  fate 

The  wide  world  seems 
Where  men  thy  royal  message  wait, 

Dread  Queen  of  Dreams ! 


LIFE  LIES  BEFORE  US 

Golden  the  glory  of  childhood's  sweet  vision 
When  the  young  heart,  o'errunning  with  gladness, 
Knows  nothing  of  sorrow,  of  gloom,  or  of  sadness. 
Existence  is  joy  and  life  looks  Elysian, 
As  bright  as  the  blue  bending  tenderly  o'er  us, 
Filling  our  souls  with  a  sense  of  pure  pleasure — 
Our  very  hearts  beat  to  a  jubilant  measure — 
For  life  lies  before  us ! 

And  then  manhood's   cares   and  questions   come 

thronging, 
"Of   what   value   these    beautiful   visions    you're 

weaving? 
What  have  you  accomplished,  what  are  you  achiev- 

ing?" 

Thus  the  voice  of  ambition  fills  us  with  longing. 
We  listen  to  labor's  deep,  answering  chorus 
Among  the  world's  workers,  its  destinies  sharing, 
We  find  our  enjoyment  in  doing  and  daring 
Since  life  lies  before  us. 

And  when  we  shall  reach  the  mystical  river 
That  sweeps  onward  ever,  resistless,  unswerving, 
Its  purpose  divine  unceasingly  serving, 
On  the  dark  verge  evening  shadows  will  shiver, 
Red  banners  of  sunset  will  undulate  o'er  us. 
But  Faith  will  behold  beyond  the  wave  lying 
The  City  Immortal  and  rapture  undying, 
Still,  life  lies  before  us! 


2O 


ABOVE  THE  CLOUDS 

O  brothers !  toiling  bravely  to  the  height 

Of  aspiration  for  the  good  of  man — 

How  often  since  your  weary  march  began 

Have  those  far  lustrous  summits  lost  their  light? 

For  veiling  vapors  float  up  from  below; 
Misapprehension  wraps  us  like  a  cloud, 
Its  clammy,  clinging  folds  our  souls  enshroud 
Till  hope  grows  faint;  we  almost  fear  to  go 

Along  the  upward  path  by  chasms  deep 
Gashed  in  the  mighty  mountain's  wounded  side; 
The  wooing  voices  whisper  in  the  wide 
Mysterious  silence,  while  our  spirits  sleep : 

"Remain!"  the  voices  of  the  valley  sing. 
"Thou  canst  not  reach  them,  lonely,  cold  and  far, 
Unattainable  by  man  those  summits  are; 
Come  down  into  the  sunny  warmth  of  Spring!" 

And  yet,  my  brothers,  when  the  breath  of  God 
Blows  far  away  the  cruel  curtaining  cloud, 
What  rapture  to  forget  the  captious  crowd 
Whose  hands  would  drag  us  downward  to  the  sod ! 

Green  looks  the  valley?     It  may  well  be  so ! 
Its  rich,  dark  soil  for  many  thousand  years 
Has  been  well  watered  with  man's  blood  and  tears. 
From  sorrow's  soil  our  common  comforts  grow. 

21 


Above  the  clouds,  above  the  clouds,  O  friends ! 
Courage,  true  hearts  !  look  upward  to  the  height! 
Who  would  forsake  that  pure  and  lovely  light 
That  glows   from  Heaven  where  the  long  path 
ends? 


PEACE 

I  read  it  in  the  violets'  blue  eyes 

This  strange,  new  lesson  mine  to  learn, 
And  study  it  from  silent,  starry  skies 

Whose  calm  rebukes   ambitious  thoughts  that 

burn 

The  soul  itself  with  their  consuming  fires. 
All  vain  regrets  and  passionate  desires 

Are  silenced  by  the  influence  serene 
Of  woods,  and  waves,  and  wandering  winds  that 

bring 
The  first  sweet  fragrance,  hostage  of  the  Spring, 

Sent  from  her  islands  green. 

"Why  blot  out  the  bright  earth  with  bitter  tears? 
Transform  them  into  rainbows  with  a  smile. 

Or  soon  or  late  the  dearest  friends  must  part." 
So  comes  a  quiet  voice  across  the  years — 

And  speaks  its  peace  to  my  impatient  heart. 


22 


THE  CITY  OF  SIN 

Down  the  street  of  the  plague-stricken  city 
In  shuddering  horror  I  fled 

Too  frightened  to  linger  for  pity 

Of  the  dying  who  sobbed  o'er  the  dead — 
O'er  the  festering  piles  of  the  dead! 

Bloated  faces  turned  upward  to  heaven 
From  a  writhing  and  twisted  heap 

Of  souls  dying  alone — unforgiven 
By  the  ghastly  corpses  asleep — 
Where  none  but  the  cruel  could  sleep. 

On  the  hand  of  what  once  was  a  woman 
Gleamed  a  jewel  of  rarest  device. 

At  the  hest  of  some  fiend  inhuman 
I  snatched  it — the  finger  was  ice ! 
Blue,  clammy  and  horrible  ice. 

And  then  I  rushed  forth  from  the  portal, 
I  drank  the  pure  air  of  the  plain. 

In  that  instant  an  agony  mortal 

Wrung  my  heart  till  I  raved  in  my  pain. 
I  was  tortured  and  maddened  with  pain. 

Death  had  lurked  in  the  heart  of  the  jewel, 
Its  beauty  had  cost  me  too  dear! 

On  my  anguish  it  shone  cold  and  cruel, 
Its  light  withered  all  loveliness  sear. 
Made  Gethsemane's  olive-trees  sear! 


Oh,  flee  in  mad  haste  from  the  city! 

Your  feet  spurn  its  pavement  accursed  I 
Let  no  bauble,  no  beauty,  no  pity, 

Stay  your  wild  flight — so  frantic  at  first ! 

Wear  no  jewel  a  corpse  has  worn  first! 


A  NEW  LIBATION 

The  soul  that  only  cares  to  please 
Itself,  in  sweet,  indulgent  ease, 

At  last  must  learn  the  lesson  stern : 
Our  deeds  become  our  Nemeses. 

An  act,  once  done,  no  power  recalls ; 

Our  hearts  the  force  of  Fate  appalls; 
We  may  forget,  may  hope — but  yet 

The  tree  must  lie  where'er  it  falls. 

All  honor  to  the  young  soul,  when 

Its  eager  sympathy — again 
A  gift  divine — the  heart's  rich  wine 

Is  poured  out  to  the  needs  of  men, 

A  new  libation!  Love  (release 

For  fettered  lives)  bids  sorrow  cease; 

The  famished  feeds;  and  lo !  our  deeds 
Are  white-winged  messengers  of  Peace  ! 


UNDER  SEALED  ORDERS 

An    American    Red    Cross    nurse    serving    in 

France  told  me  thai  her  contract  read:     "From  an 

unknown  port  to  an  unknown  port." 

"From  Port  Unknown  to  Unknown  Port" 

Were  her  mysterious  orders 
As  she  crept  from  the  shelter  of  the  fort 

That  watches  her  country's  borders. 

She  carried  the  Red  Cross  of  love 

To  stricken  brothers  fallen  for  France, 

That  flag  all  other  flags  above 

Knows  no  retreat !     It  must  advance  ! 

The  woman's  task,  the  human  task, 
To  bind  the  wounds  of  ruthless  strife; 

What  loftier  mission  could  she  ask 
Than  her  old  work  of  serving  Life? 

The  Life,  that,  like  the  Red  Cross  ships, 
Into  uncharted  seas  has  passed, — 

From  an  unknown  port  each  spirit  slips 
And  seeks  an  unknown  port — at  last ! 


THE  CUP 

The  Cup  was  beautiful,  quaintly  and  curiously 
wrought  with  figures  of  gleeful  baby  Loves, 
moulded  of  rosy  gold  with  half-extended  wings, 
as  tho  they  had  lighted  on  the  brim  a  moment 
before  to  sip  of  its  nectar.  An  old,  old  Cup  of 
rare  design  and  dearer  because  old  and  rich  of 
service  to  many  generations  of  men  and  maidens 
fair  as  she. 

The  untasted  liquid  seemed  fathomless  as  she 
gazed  down  into  it,  deep  as  all  the  longing  that 
had  looked  from  the  brooding  eyes  of  those  who 
had  passed  it  on  from  hand  to  hand,  from  lip  to 
lip,  from  one  generation  to  another.  There  were 
red  gleams  of  fire  and  of  roses,  greens  and  blues 
that  shimmered  into  each  other  in  the  shifting 
hues  of  a  dove's  soft  breast;  the  purple  of  ripe 
grapes;  the  yellow  of  sunlight  in  the  heart  of  a 
water-lily;  the  gray-blue  bloom  of  a  plum  under  a 
passing  shadow;  the  white  flash  of  tears  falling 
upon  marble;  the  joy-light  of  eyes  that  had  wept 
themselves  bright  again. 

The  maiden  stood  among  the  meadow  drifts  of 
daisies;  all  about  her  the  sound  of  wings;  of  low 
soft  notes;  of  the  whisper  of  gossiping  grasses. 

A  shaft  of  sunlight  touched  her  shining  hair, 
slid  down  the  rounded  arm,  trembled  on  the  rose- 
leaf  palm  curved  about  the  handle  of  the  Cup  and 

26 


quivered  in  the  restless  liquid,  disclosing  strange, 
vivid  colors  unnamed  as  yet.  Was  the  draught 
cordial  or  poison? 

She   lifted  the   dread   Cup   and   drank   to   the 
Giver. 


NOVA  VITA 

In  a  new  and  wonderful  world  I  live 
As  dewy  and  fresh  as  Paradise 

Where  half  open  rosebuds  shyly  give 
Modest  blushes  beneath  my  eyes. 

From  this  happy  home  I  shall  ne'er  depart, 
But  dwell  for  aye  'neath  the  sunny  skies, 

My  world  is  a  little  maid's  loving  heart, 
And  my  heaven  her  azure  eyes! 


A  FABLE 

I  know  an  enchanted  garden, 

Where  a  wondrous  blossom  grows, 

A  slender  and  silver  lily 

That  can  change  itself  to  a  rose ! 

My  heart  is  the  magic  garden — 
Dare  I  its  secrets  disclose? 

For  you,  my  love,  are  the  lily 

Till  your  blushes  make  you  a  rose ! 


27 


HEART'S  EASE 

They  brought  me  roses,  darling, 
Roses  with  hearts  aflame — 

And  stealing  thru  fevered  visions 
A  sense  of  sweetness  came. 

In  the  dim  and  curtained  chamber 
Roses  glowed  thru  the  gloom, 

Radiant  censers  showering 
Rich  fragrance  in  the  room. 

But  I  did  not  care  for  their  beauty, 
Impatiently  turned  away — 

They  only  filled  me  with  longing 
To  see  the  sweet  June  day. 

Then  you  came,  bright  as  the  morning- 
Did  you  divine  my  need? 

With  your  perfect,  purple  pansies 
You  brought  Heart's  Ease  indeed ! 


28 


A  THEFT 

Once  a  sweet  rose-bud 
Smiled  in  the  sun, 

Roses  around  her 
Ope'd  one  by  one; 

Shyly  she  looked  up 
The  green  leaves  thru 

And  held  in  her  heart 
A  pearl  of  dew. 

With  flattering  words 

The  sun  began : 
"Fair  one,  oh,  hide  not 

Thy  heart  from  man !" 

But  as  bright  petals 

Slowly  uncurl 
See !     The  sly  rogue  has 

Stolen  her  pearl ! 


29 


INLAND 

All  sights  and  sounds  speak  of  thee,  my  Beloved; 

And  since  I  learned  you  are  beside  the  sea 

The  mighty  Mother  ministers  to  me, 

Leaving  my  foolish  fancies  unreproved 

Like  silent  sentinels  in  duty  grooved. 

The  stately  columns  of  the  cottonwood 

All  day  in  perfect  quietude  have  stood, 

But  suddenly  the  shining  leaves  are  moved 

To  murmuring  music;  the  young  winds  awake 

Over  the  bending  fields  of  billowy  grass 

Dotted  with  daisies  that  a  foam-crest  make 

For  the  green  waves;  the  "prairie  schooners"  pass 

Like  sun-lit  sails;  and  as  I  watch  their  motion 

I  dream  with  thee,  Dear,  by  the  distant  ocean! 


A  BROWNIE 

Oh,  Humming-bird  may  flit  in  the  sun, 
A  rose-hued  life  on  a  rainbow  wing, 

Blue-bird  and  Red-breast  when  winter's  done 
May  give  glad  welcome  to  maiden-spring; 

But  a  little  brown  bird's  the  bird  I  sing — 

Russet-robed  darling! 


Oh,  bonny  blue  eyes  the  poets  praise; 

And  eyes  that  seem  like  a  thought  of  night; 
And  deep  gray  eyes  with  their  clear,  calm  gaze; 

Where  courage  and  gentleness  unite, 
But  a  pair  of  brown  eyes  are  my  delight, 
My  brown-eyed  beauty ! 

Oh,  golden  tresses  are  fair  to  see 

Showering  sunshine  everywhere ; 
And  duskier  ringlets  falling  free; 

And  amber  locks  that  the  Sirens  wear; 
But  the  best  of  all  do  I  love  brown  hair, 
My  brown-haired  beauty ! 

Oh !  sweet  little  girl  in  dress  of  brown, 

With  face  like  a  snow-drop,  pure  and  pale, 

'Mong  russet  leaves  that  have  fluttered  down 
From  oak  above  it  that  braves  the  gale. 

"My  favorite  color?"     Till  life  shall  fail 

Is  brown,  dear  Brownie! 


"How  doth  the  little  busy  bee !" 

Sang  Grace,  sweet  girl,  as  she  crossed  over 

To  where  I  whetted  my  shining  scythe 

In  the  fragrant  fields  of  clover. 

A  kiss  I  stole  from  her  smiling  lips — 

What  a  frown  was  hers  to  see ! 

"Haven't  I  right  to  sip  honey?"  I  said, 

"If  I'm  a  bee?" 


IN  SOME  FAR  LAND 

In  some  far  land  there  groweth 

Among  the  grasses  lowly 

A  plant  arising  slowly 

Whose  flowers  no  mortal  knoweth ! 

It  will  go  on,  unfolding, 

Its  leaves  and  buds  of  beauty, 

Some  subtle  sense  of  duty 

Its  blossoms  still  withholding. 

But  some  sweet  day,  unknowing 
That  kindly  fates  are  leading 
My  drowsy  heart  unheeding 
To  where  the  flower  is  growing. 

I  shall  secure  its  sweetness 
That  for  my  footstep  waited  ! 
And  those  bright  buds  belated 
I'll  kiss  into  completeness. 

In  all  its  opening  glory 

I'll  claim  the  beauteous  blossom 

To  wear  upon  my  bosom — 

What!     You're  laughing  at  my  story? 


But  Blue  Eyes  smiling  under 
My  gaze,  its  fire  unknowing, 
How  do  you  know  what's  growing 
"In  some  far  land,"  I  wonder? 


RETRIBUTION 

I  found  a  fair  flower 
By  the  wayside  smiling; 

Its  cheeks  covered  o'er 
By  blushes  beguiling. 

I  passed  on,  nor  knew 
The  love  I  was  losing; 

For  when  I  returned 

'Twas  too  late  for  choosing! 

Finding  none  fairer, 
My  fate  never  fearing, 

I  came  back  to  find 

Another  'twas  cheering! 


33 


A  PARABLE 

Out  of  the  darkness  and  the  storm 
A  sudden  plunge  against  the  pane; 

The  room  within  looks  safe  and  warm, 
Sure  shelter  from  the  wind  and  rain, 
The  bird,  bewildered,  strives  in  vain. 

And  so,  I  muse,  it  fares  with  me. 
I  meet  reserve  so  crystal  clear 

That,  like  the  bird,  I  can  not  see 
The  barrier  between  us,  dear, 
And  vainly  strive  to  come  more  near! 


WASTED 

My  heart  was  a  rose, 

Rose  red  and  rose  sweet, 

And  somebody  knows 
At  whose  dainty  feet 

I  laid  this  fresh  rose  ! 

My  heart  is  a  rose, 
But  faded,  down  flung, 

No  longer  it  grows 

My  life's  thorns  among, 

Rejected,  my  rose! 

34 


SIGNAL  SERVICE 

(Weather  Report} 

A  chill  of  winter  is  in  the  air, 

The  leafless  forest  withered  and  bare 

Bleak  hilltops  crowning; 
The  heavens  above  are  gray  and  cold 
And  tarnished  the  sunshine's  tender  gold. 

( Somebody's  frowning ! ) 

Warm  winds  of  summer  softly  blow — 
In  velvet  verdure  the  glad  trees  grow. 

The  sky's  beguiling 
The  bright  lake  below,  a  mirror  true, 
Into  azure  answering  its  blue — 

(Somebody's  smiling!) 

(Indications} 

You  who  would  walk  in  the  land  of  love, 
No  matter  how  blue  the  skies  above, 
Look  for  sudden  changes  of  weather ! 

And  one  very  advisable  plan 

Is  to  take  an  overcoat  and — fan. 

You  may  need  them  both  together ! 


35 


CONFESSION 

There  is  a  face  whose  moods  I  know — 

A  faintly-tinted,  flower-like  thing, 

Pale,  till  some  sudden  thought  doth  bring 

A  sunset  light  across  the  snow ! 

Ah,  modest  maiden  heart  that  speaks 

Its  sweet  surprise,  in  crimson  cheeks  ! 

And  I  think  as  I  watch  the  fading  flush 
"What  can  be  prettier  than  a  blush?" 

Yet  bonnier  still  are  deep  blue  eyes; 
Or  when,  again,  her  eyes  are  hid 
By  lovely  blue-veined,  fallen  lid — 
And  her  troubled  bosom  stirs  with  sighs 
Its  filmy  lace;  and  one  pure  pearl 
Jewels  the  check  of  my  sweet  girl — 

I  am  very  sure  (since  it  proves  me  dear) 
There's  nothing  so  beautiful  as  a  tear! 


INTENTIONS 

"I've  firmly,  boys,  made  up  my  mind 

That  when  I  marry, 
The  girl  I  choose  shall  be  a  kind 

Of  kitchen-fairy. 

"A  saint,  of  course,  in  soul  and  looks, 

(Tho  men  are  sinners), 
But  she  must  be  a  saint  who  cooks 

Delicious  dinners ! 

"Beauty  and  brains — and  I'll  not  mind 

Sage  conversations; 
But  one  thing  I'll  expect  to  find — 

Regular  rations!" 

The  maiden  fair  said  thru  her  tears, 

"With  these  perfections 
Steak-cooking  somewhat  interferes; 

It  spoils  complexions ! 

"You  want  an  angel,  do  you  say, 

For  your  housekeeping? 
I  fear  wings  would  be  in  the  way 

When  she  was  sweeping!" 


37 


FAREWELL! 

And   so  you  leave   me?     Love,   the   world   was 

wide — 

I  did  not  crave  your  coming — made  no  sign — 
Why  did  you  enter,  then,  this  heart  of  mine 
If,  entering,  you  did  not  choose  abide? 

A  humble  home,  I  know,  but  all  your  own 
Keeping  you  safe  and  warm.     Ambition  calls 
You  to  be  master  of  far  loftier  halls, 
And  so  you  go?  and  leave  me,  Love,  alone? 

Well — leave  me  !  cross  the  threshold — nor  return. 
I  will  not  stay  your  going  with  regret, 
But  to  my  lonely  life  a  lesson  set — 
Endurance,  not  forgetfulness,  to  learn. 

But  as  friend  gives  to  friend  some  keepsake  when 
They're  parting,  so  I  pray  you  leave  me  this — 
Merely  this  hope — that  if  you  ever  miss 
A  shelter  elsewhere,  you'll  come  home  again. 


THE  SKEPTIC 

Unhappy  he  who  doubts  the  love  divine, 

Since  human  love,  its  sweet  interpreter, 

He  cannot  comprehend — but  will  aver 

He  tastes  but  bitterness  in  life's  rich  wine ! 

Night's  gloom  alone  he  marks — yet,  the  stars  shine 

Like  sinless  eyes  of  angels;  and  the  stir 

Of  sleepy  winds  brings  fragrance  sweet  as  myrrh 

From  clover  fields;  he  catches  not  the  fine 

Hushed  sounds  of  night;  the  soft  and  drowsy  notes 

From  wind-rocked  cradles  in  the  trembling  trees; 

Only  the  chill  he  feels,  the  shadow  sees ! 

"Be  bold  for  right !"  rings  from  the  brazen  throats 

As  trumpets  blow  to  battle — but  no  thrill 

Breaks  his  soul's  trance  or  nerves  his  palsied  will. 


THE  DOUBTER 

Did  ever  a  murdered  Faith 
Stabbed  to  the  heart  by  unbelief — 
In  unavailing  grief 

Safely    sepulchered — come    back    like    a    ghostly 
wraith? 

Does  it  ever  return  to  the  heart, 

Eagerly  seek  an  entrance  there 

Where  crouches  black  despair, 

Hearing  the  sound  outside  with  a  guilty  start? 


39 


A  fair  dream  that  I  can't  forget 

Was  murdered  long  years  ago 

And  buried  beneath  the  snow, 

But  a  pallid  shade  of  joy  haunts  my  sad  heart  yet ! 

Wisdom  you  promised  me 
O  Doubt!  and  is  this  the  truth? 
You  whispered  to  ardent  youth 
"Come,  O  slave  of  creeds !  and  the  Truth  shall  &t 
you  free!" 

Is  this  the  end  of  the  years 
Full  of  passionate  struggle  and  strife? 
Nothing  left  longer  in  life 

Worth  the  living — save  the  dead  dreams  of  youth 
— and  these  tears ! 

In  this  empty  house  o'  my  heart 

The  echoing  rooms  grow  cold; 

Wan  ghost  of  my  dream  of  old, 

Enter  and  wander  at  will !  for  we  must  not  part ! 


40 


SPOON  RIVER  REVIEWED 

No.     I  don't  like  your  Spoon  River  Anthology, 

Lee  Master's  long  line  of  too  loquacious  corpses 

Lying  their  length  in  a  quiet  country  churchyard — 

Who  lift  their  hideous  heads  from  their  decaying 
pillows 

And  address  a  few  remarks  to  the  world  in  gen 
eral. 

I  tell  you  those  people  aren't  dead  to  begin  with ! 

They  haven't  the  pulseless  calm  of  immortality. 

Then,  I  don't  like  the  way  they  talk  to  each  other; 

When  they  talk  to  me  I  bitterly  resent  it; 

To  be  frank,  I  don't  like  their  society, 

Dead  or  alive  they  are  equally  detestable. 

Where  are  the  good  people  buried  in  that  grave 
yard? 

There  must  have,  a  lot  of  them,  lived  in  Spoon 
River — 

Grey  warriors  of  the  Lord — 

Children  like  flowers — 

Boys  and  girls  with  their  eyes  full  of  visions — 

Mothers  who  were  sweet  and  calm  and  sensible. 

Perhaps  they  are  in  Heaven,  and  these  earth- 
bound  spirits 

Lingering  around  and  watching  their  own  corrup 
tion, 


Coiling  like  rattlesnakes  around  their  own  head 
stones, 

Are  all  that  are  left  in  Spoon  River  graveyard. 
Then  I  don't  like  it  because  it  isn't  poetry, 
Nor  metrical  prose,  nor  anything  musical, 
All  of  its  cadences  are  humpy  like  the  graveyard ! 
He  tried  to  be  a  Whitman  with  a  touch  of  Rabe 
lais; 

But  Whitman  sometimes  has  a  mighty  music 
Like  the  roar  of  the  sea   (or  the  thunder  of  the 

Elevated). 

Reminding  us  at  times  of  his  own  Wild  Trump 
eter. 

Oh,  how  I  dread  a  set  of  Spoon  Rivers ! 
A  lot  of  little  Whitmans  without  any  music, 
A  herd  of  Rabelaises  without  any  genius 
Spoiling  white   paper   and   mussing   up   the   uni 
verse  .   .  . 
It  gives  one  a  taste  for  annihilation ! 


"VERWEILE  DOCH,  DU  BIST  SO  SCHON" 

Gaily  we  wander — Life  and  I — 

Over  green  fields  in  sweet  spring  weather. 

Each  hour  like  a  bright-winged  butterfly 
Flits  away  while  we  walk  together 

Yet  we  wish  them  briefer,  Life  and  I. 

Slowly  we  saunter — Life  and  I — 
Among  the  roses,  summer's  treasure. 

The  golden  moments  are  gliding  by 

So  sweetly  laden  with  love  and  pleasure 

We  linger  a  little,  Life  and  I. 

> 

Swiftly  we  hasten — Life  and  I — 

'Mid  scarlet  and  gold  of  autumn's  strewing 

From  our  eager  grasp  the  seconds  fly 

Like  trembling  leaves  when  the  wind  is  blow 
ing— 

We  must  leave  our  labor,  Life  and  I. 

Weary  we  wander,  Life  and  I, 

Thru  a  cold,  white  world  in  winter  weather. 
Slowly  and  sadly  the  days  creep  by. 

Too  tired,  at  last,  to  walk  together 
We  wish  the  road  shorter,  Life  and  I. 


43 


Oh,  when  did  either  Life  or  I 

Long  for  an  instant  to  last  forever? 

Not  here !      But  in  Heaven  hearts  will  sigh 
From  each  sweet  moment  loth  to  sever : 

"Stay!     We  find  thee  fairest,  Life  and  I !' 


AVENGED 

Love  lit  my  door  one  day; 

My  heart,  filled  full  of  cares, 
Heedlessly  turned  away 

"An  angel  unawares." 

Soon  came  regret,  and  then 
Too  late,  "Return"  I  wept, 

But  when  love  came  again 
Weary  with  waiting  slept. 

I  woke  with  beating  heart 

To  find  the  dear  guest  flown — 

And  now  I  dwell  apart 
In  a  still  house  alone ! 


44 


THE  NIGHT  COURT  FOR  WOMEN 

O  Court  of  Justice,  justly  named  the  Night! 

Where  shuddering  shapes  of  want  and  sin 
With  pallid  faces — hands  too  white — 

Like  evil  dreams  flit  out  and  in. 

Yet  these,  these  also,  He  the  Sinless  swept 
Into  His  inmost  sphere  of  living  light; 

Forgiving  much  to  her  who  knelt  and  wept : 
"Go,  sin  no  more,"  sad  Daughters  of  the  Night 


THE  SEARCH 

I  walk  thru  city  streets  but  nowhere  see 
The  face  beloved  I  ne'er  may  see  again. 
These  human  hives,  the  haunts  of  many  men, 
Are  full  of  faces — Love,  I  look  for  thee. 

Sometimes  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  golden  hair, 
Of  deep-blue  eyes  and  sea-shell  tinted  cheek 
And  for  a  moment  think  the  face  I  seek 
Is  found;  but  soon  I  sigh  :     "  'Tis  very  fair — 
But,  ah,  the  noble  spirit  shines  not  there !" 

Thru  life  I  wander  on  alone,  my  Love ; 
And  shall  I  never,  never,  see  thee  more? 
The  tireless  wave  breaks  ever  on  the  shore, 
The  ceaseless  planets  circle  on  above, 
And  so  my  thoughts  forever  round  thee  move  ! 


45 


ENDYMION  TO  DIANA 

How  strange  to  find  myself  no  more  my  own. 
My  very  thoughts  which  I  deemed  mine  indeed 
Are  thine,  and  my  commands  no  longer  heed; 
So  swiftly  to  such  height  my  love  has  grown 
That  never  for  a  moment's  space  alone 
My  onward  steps  a  shadowy  shape  attends 
A  vision — yet  more  real  to  me  than  friends 
Who  press  my  hand  and  look  into  my  face 
And,  seeing  change,  wistfully  seek  to  trace 
Its  unknown  cause;  but  stranger  yet  to  know 
Tho  should  I  never  see  thee  more,  most  dear, 
One  hour  thou  didst  not  leave  me !     Linger  near, 
O  loveliest  of  dreams  !      If  thou  must  go 
Wait  till  I  wake  to  find  Hope's  fair  fruition  here ! 


SONG 

Love,  let  us  linger  in  this  garden  of  roses, 
While  the  young  sunbeams  awake  them  to  blushes, 
Listening  long  to  the  sweet  notes  of  thrushes, 
While  the  buds  open,  the  heart  too  uncloses. 
Love,  let  us  linger ! 

Love,  let  us  hasten  !      Down  the  pink  petals  flutter, 
Hear  the  low  rustle  of  dead  leaves !    The  dying, 
Faint,  far-away  songs  of  birds  Southward  flying! 
Drear  to  the  heart  is  the  message  they  utter. 
Love,  let  us  hasten  ! 

46 


THE  MEASURE  OF  MEDIOCRITY 

Oh,  the  tragedy  that  lies 
Right  before  unthinking  eyes 

In  some  dull,  plebeian  face! 
Oh,  the  sorrow  and  the  longing 
Of  sad  souls  that  we  are  wronging 

With  the  charge  of:  "Commonplace!" 

Oh,  the  victories  unknown, 
In  some  soul  that  fights  alone, 

Fearing  its  endeavor  vain  ! 
Ah,  repenting,  let  us  render 
Homage  to  the  true  and  tender 

Hearts  that  beat  beneath  the  "jean"  ! 

If  thy  blind  eyes  will  not  see — 
Hear  the  voice  that  speaks  to  thee : 

"Let  him  serve  who  would  be  wise  !" 
Lest,  before  us  humbly  kneeling, 
Servant's  eyes  should  lift,  revealing, 

Christ  our  King — in  lowly  guise! 


47 


THE  SEARCH 

Like  a  child  longing  for  the  Father's  face 
I  sought  my  Maker's  will  in  Nature's  laws, 

But  Nature  chilled  my  heart  with  cheerless  grace 
And  Science  saddened  with  a  cold  First  Cause. 

The  history  of  our  hope  I  read  again 
The  record  of  the  well-beloved  Son : 

What  answer  to  our  longing  made  He,  when 
He  walked  in  Palestine,  the  Perfect  One? 

"Blessed  the  pure  in  heart,"  I  read, 

"For  they  shall  see  God."     Sweet  rebuke  and 

wise! 
No  wonder  that  we  find  Him  not,  I  said, 

Light's  self  is  darkness  to  sin-blinded  eyes. 

Our  Father !  number  us  with  those 

Redeemed  by  Christ — whose  spirits  shall  unfold 
Pure  petals  of  the  radiant  white  rose 

That  Dante  dreamed  of — God  its  heart  of 
gold! 


48 


PLATTE  CANON 

What  atoms  we  are  in  these  vast  calm  places — 
In  such  splendid  spaciousness  of  sky 

Thru  cloven  canons  the  river  races 

Restless  with  rocks  that  its  temper  try. 

What  atoms  we  are  with  our  puny  passion 
Our  little  lives  lost  in  futile  fear — 

Bacterian  struggles  for  wealth  and  fashion, 
Unworthy  the  tribute  of  a  tear ! 

The  grand  rebuke  of  the  forest  stills  us, 
The  river  laughs  at  our  sordid  care, 

The  rosy  calm  of  the  sunset  fills  us 

With  bliss  of  beauty  and  pain  of  prayer. 

Secure  is  the  heart  that  can  hold  this  splendor, 
Reaching  yearning  arms  as  wide  as  Heaven, 

Folding  the  whole  race  in  love  as  tender 
As  pure  and  deep  as  a  soul  forgiven. 

Grand  are  the  giant  mountain  faces; 

Bright  the  flash  of  the  sunlit  spray; 
The  forest  is  full  of  myriad  graces; 

But  one  human  soul  is  more  than  they! 


49 


And  so  we  return  to  nobler  living, 

Gentler  judgment  of  our  brother  Man, 

Generous  sympathy,  golden  giving; 

We  are  part,  at  least,  of  a  perfect  plan. 

"Atoms"  are  we?     Not  so,  save  in  choosing 
The  less,  and  passing  the  greater  by, 

Reckless  of  worlds  we  may  be  losing! 
A  drop  may  mirror  the  infinite  sky! 


A  WINTER  WALK 

"See  Winter's  flag  of  truce  unfurl ! 

He  wears  his  jewels  like  a  king — 
The  sky  a  sapphire,  earth  a  pearl 

In  sunshine  set!" — that  sort  of  thing. 
"You'll  take  my  arm?     It's  icy  here." 

"Thanks,  no;  Inever  slip,"  she  said, 
Just  then  she  felt — sensation  queer — 

The  glassy  sidewalk  hit  her  head. 

The  horizontal  she'd  assumed; 

And  as  he  helped  her  to  her  feet 
Upon  whose  steadiness  she'd  plumed 

Herself,  he  said:     "Revenge  is  sweet!" 
Upon  the  proffered  ulster  sleeve 

She  meekly  laid  her  snowy  hand : 
"  'In  slippery  places,'  I  believe, 

The  Bible  says,  'The  wicked — stand!'  ' 


LOVE'S  MEMORY 

Surely,  Love,  you  can't  forget 
Your  first  gift?     A  violet 
Dewy,  purple  petals  wet 
With  your  tears?     I  have  it  yet. 

Ah,  those  sweet  repentant  tears ! 
How  they  sparkle  thru  the  years ! 
And  each  passing  day  endears 
The  memory  which  chides  my  fears. 

Long  my  suit  you  had  denied — 
Still  I  lingered  at  your  side; 
In  my  pain,  Love,  did  I  chide? 
Forgive  me  that  your  tears  replied 

Ah,  remember!      Do  not  let 
Our  fair  star  of  friendship  set; 
A  stern  rebuke  my  anger  met 
In  a  blue-eyed  violet! 

Filled  with  tears  it  seemed  to  be 
Like  the  one  you  gave  to  me — 
Only  that's  o'erarched,  you  see, 
By  a  rainbow  memory ! 

In  life's  anxious  care  and  fret 
'Tis  but  human  to  forget — 
Ah,  forgive  and  love  me  yet ! 
I'm  vanquished  by  a  violet! 


THE  CUP  OF  LOVE 

What  is  the  draught  thou  bringest  me 

0  Love,  with  beseeching  radiant  eyes? 
If  I  drink  at  thy  wish  shall  I  be  wise? 

1  look  at  the  cup's  carved  tracery, 

Its  graceful  shape  and  its  rich,  red  hues — 
From  thy  hand  it  were  not  hard  to  choose. 

And  yet,  I  know  not  why,  I  fear 

To  lift  to  my  quivering  lips  the  brim 

Lest  its  iridescent  lights  grow  dim. 

Will  it  be  as  lovely — seen  too  near? 

Will  the  draught  be  bitter  or  sweet  when  spent? 

Bring  me  bliss  or  poison  my  calm  content? 

Old  is  the  cup,  and  of  rare  design 
Quaintly  and  curiously  wrought, 
Product  of  many  a  poet's  thought — 
Holds  it  heart's-blood  or  fragrant  wine? 
Cordial  or  poison,  Love?     Eagerly 
I  lift  the  dread  cup  and  drink  to  thee! 


IN  SILENTIO 

"A  rose  is  the  emblem  of  silence" 

Close  the  book — the  leaves  of  love 
We  so  gladly  turned  together 
'Mid  the  golden,  glowing  heather 
Tinged  by  sunset  hues  above. 

Softly  as  a  petal's  fall 
Place  a  rose  between  the  pages; 
No  gay  reader  ever  gauges 
The  deep  anguish  under  all. 

Let  no  moan  escape  our  lips 
Sternly  closed.     This  is  no  illness, 
Love  is  dead !     Hark !  thru  the  stillness 
Drop  by  drop  the  life-blood  drips. 

Without  speech,  then,  let  us  part. 
Not  a  word  to  friend  or  lover. 
Leave  the  dead — the  chill  face  cover, 
Lay  a  rose  upon  her  heart! 


53 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS 

O  watcher  by  the  riverside ! 

The   waves    have    borne    away   their    precious 

freight. 

Why  scan  so  anxiously  the  coming  tide? 
His  promises  forever  must  abide — 

In  patience  wait ! 

Alas !  we  cannot  comprehend  His  ways, 
His  purposes  no  mortal  may  discern; 
O  faithful  heart  that  fears  but  yet  obeys, 
No  longer  doubt!      For  "after  many  days" 
It  shall  return! 


HARD  TO  SUIT 

"If  he'd  only  knelt  at  my  feet, 
And  felt  what  he  tried  to  say, 

Instead  of  keeping  his  seat 
In  such  a  commonplace  way, 

Had  his  words  been  warm  as  sweet, 
I  might  not  have  said  him  'nay' ! 


54 


"If  he  had  simply  said:     'Please, 
Will  you  marry  me?'  to-day — 

And  not  gone  down  on  his  knees 
In  that  ridiculous  way, 

I'd  have  felt  much  more  at  ease 

And  I  might  have  answered:  'yea' !" 


WIRELESS 

A  fair  thought  came  floating  into  my  brain 

On  some  ethereal  current  drifting. 
For  days  I  had  searched  for  her,  in  vain, 

But  now  the  veil  of  consciousness  lifting, 
The  thought  said,  smiling:     "You've  sought  me 

long, 

Now  paint  me  quickly  in  colors  of  song 
Iris-hued,  shifting, 
Your  phrases  sifting." 

Idly  I  answered,  "Some  fortunate  day 

When  the  light  and  my  mood  are  better !" 

But,  at  last,  to  a  magazine  far  away 
I  sent  my  new  thought,  in  a  letter, 

Painted  as  carefully  as  I  could; 

E'en  my  enemy  critic  said  it  was  good. 

The  daily  I  bought 

And  there — was  my  thought ! 


55 


AFTER  THE  SEASON 

Close  the  book  we've  read  together 
In  the  golden,  summer  weather ! 
Birds  have  sought  another  nest 

In  some  sunny,  southern  nook. 
You  will  leave  me  like  the  rest, 

Close  the  book! 

Sing  no  more  the  ballads  tender, 
All  their  love  and  longing  render 
My  deep  pain  more  bitter  yet; 

Since  my  daring  dream  is  o'er 
Help  me,  dearest,  to  forget ! 

Sing  no  more ! 

Say  good-bye  while  I  am  ready. 
See !  my  hand  is  not  unsteady. 
Would  you  dream  that  as  I  stand 

I  had  watched  my  future  die? 
While  my  voice  I  still  command 

Say:     "Good-bye!" 

You  will  stay  no  more  to  listen 
While  above  the  white  stars  glisten 
Like  the  bliss  I  could  not  capture. 

Tears,  love  ?     What  is  it  you  say  ? 
After  agony  comes  rapture ! 

"You  will  stay?" 


SONG 

I'd  weave  thee  a  crown! 

O  Love !     Who  crownest  my  days ; 

Not  the  victor's  laurel,  the  poet's  bays ; 

They  are  not  for  thee. 

Thy  crown  shall  be 

Something  fairer  and  finer  far, 

Like  the  magical  light  that  crowns  a  star. 

I'd  weave  thee  a  crown ! 

Not  a  fading  wreath  of  flowers; 

Such  a  garland's  only  for  summer  hours; 

And  thy  diadem 

Shall  not,  like  them, 

Perish  as  brightest  blossoms  must; 

An  immortal  crown  I'd  weave — not  dust! 

I'd  weave  thee  a  crown 

Out  of  ev'ry  loving  thought 

For  others,  that  thy  love  for  me  has  taught, 

Out  of  happiness 

That  longs  to  bless 

Earth's  weary  ones  less  glad  than  we — 

Such  is  the  crown,  dear  Love,  I'd  weave  for  thee! 


57 


A  FACE 

I  know  a  face,  serene  and  fair, 
Crowned  by  its  burnished  braids  of  hair, 
Lighted  with  eyes  deep,  lustrous,  rare. 

A  face  where  every  gazer  must 

Discern  a  soul,  true,  gentle,  just, 

A  smile  that  Doubt  himself  might  trust. 

But  a  lovelier  look  I  see 
Than  all  its  sweet  serenity — 
A  look  that's  only  known  to  me. 

Like  one  who  travels  thru  the  night, 
Ascends  some  eastward-looking  height 
And  sees  beyond  the  breaking  light, 

The  slumbering  world  below  him  lies ; 
For  him  alone  flush  morn's  fair  skies; 
So,  when  I  gaze  in  those  clear  eyes 

I  see  there  what  no  other  may, 
Young  Love's  first  faintly-dawning  ray, 
And  well  content  I  wait  the  dav! 


LOVE'S  LOGIC 

Love  has  its  own  sweet  will  and  own  sweet  way 
Of  settling  questions  in  an  ex  cathedra  fashion. 

And  so,  my  dove-eyed  darling,  you  may  say 

Just  what  you  please,  you  cannot  shake  my  pas 
sion. 

Hush,  cynic !  my  devotion's  far  above 
All  "admiration  only  for  a  season," 

And  if  you  "see  no  reason  for  my  love" — 

Why,  then — I'll  love  you  still  without  a  reason ! 


IN  PRAISE  OF  PAIN 

A  sombre  figure,  darkly  veiled,  and  dread 

Walked  ever  at  my  side  thru  weary  years — 

Her    food — my    very    heart !       Her    drink — my 

tears ! 

At  last,  the  veil  was  lifted  from  her  head — 
I  dared  not  look  !      But  vanquishing  my  fears 
After  a  little,  raised  my  timid  gaze: 


"And  so  thou  art  an  Angel?"  low  I  said 

While  two  clear,  tender  eyes  were  fixed  on  mine, 

And  in  their  radiant  depths  I,  wondering,  read 

A  dear  reflection  of  the  Love  Divine, 

And  since  that  day — God's  angel,  Pain,  I  praise! 


59 


TRAUMEREI 

Over  the  listening  audience 

The  soft,  low  notes  of  Traumerei  swept, 

I  closed  my  eyes;  to  a  single  sense 

I  gave  my  soul;  to  the  strains  that  crept 

Into  my  heart,  where  memory  waked  and  wept 

No  longer  I  saw  the  white  round  arm 
Of  the  fair  girl  clasp  her  violin; 

I  yielded  to  dreamy  music's  charm 

And  living  again  the  days  that  had  been 
I  pictured  a  face  that  had  power  to  win 

My  thoughts  to  the  unforgotten  past ! 
Just  once  to  touch  the  tempting  red 

Of  the  smiling  mouth,  to  feel  at  last 

Its  sweet  surrender — "Ah,  me!"  I  said, 
"To  press  to  my  heart  that  golden  head 

"I  would  give  the  life  that  remains  to  me!" 
For  a  moment — the  sweet  sounds  softer  fell 

For  a  moment — my  weary  soul  was  free, 
The  beautiful  eyes  I  had  known  so  well 
Once  again  wrought  woe  with  their  fatal  spell. 

60 


A  warm  sea  of  melody  'round  us  stole 
The  full,  rosy  lips  were  pressed  to  mine; 

Into  dangerous  slumber  my  drowning  soul 
Wooed  by  kisses  and  music's  wine 
Wavering  fell — and  then,  so  faint  and  fine — 

The  music  climbed  by  a  silver  stair 

From  the  marshes  low  to  a  mountain  height — 

I  felt  a  swift  rush  of  diviner  air, 

The  breath  of  pine  forests;  I  saw  the  white 
Snows  of  the  summits — and  the  path  of  Right ! 


SONGS  FROM  HEINE 
THE  PALM  AND  THE  PINE 

A  Pine-tree  is  standing  lonely 

On  heights  where  the  North-winds  blow, 
His  slumber  is  covered  only 

With  a  cold,  white  robe  of  snow. 

Of  a  Palm-tree  he  is  dreaming 
That,  far  in  the  Morning-land, 

Grieves  alone  amid  the  gleaming 
Desert  of  burning  sand. 


61 


"Du  BIST  WIE  EINE   BLUME" 

Thou  art  so  like  a  flower 

So  sweet,  and  pure,  and  fair! 

My  heart  perceives  thy  power, 
Grief  glides  in  unaware. 

Oh,  let  my  hands,  caressing, 
Fall  on  thy  clustering  hair! 

God  keep  thee  by  His  blessing 
So  pure  and  sweet  and  fair. 

•  •  •  •  * 

Softly  now  the  sweet  bells  ring, 

Set  my  pulses  bounding! 
Fly  forth,  little  song  of  Spring, 

Thru  the  wide  world  sounding. 

Fly  forth,  little  song,  with  speed 
Where  the  flowers  are  meeting; 

When  you  find  a  Rose  indeed 
Say  I  send  her  greeting! 

"IM  WUNDERSCHONEN  MONAT  MAl" 

In  the  marvelous  month  of  May 
With  all  the  buds  unfolding, 

Shall  I  take  the  miser's  way 

My  heart's  one  rose  withholding? 


62 


In  the  marvelous  month  of  May, 
Song-birds  the  branches  thronging, 

And  I  dare  confess  to-day 
My  hidden  love  and  longing. 


MISCONCEPTION 

Around  us  rolls  the  sea — 
And  islands  we ! 
Each  soul,  alone,  alone, 
Hears  the  strange  monotone 
Terrible,  tortured  moan 
From  the  mysterious  sea. 

Sometimes,  an  island  near 
Grows  strangely  dear; 
Yet,  between  sundered  souls 
The  stern  wave  forever  rolls; 
Call  across  reefs  and  shoals — 
Will  any  the  faint  cry  hear? 

Ah,  friend !  the  sea  is  wide 
We  live  beside ! 
Winds  bear  our  words  away, 
Drown  them  in  bitter  spray; 
Oh,  waste  of  waters  gray! 
Oh,  treacherous  tide ! 


SONG 

"Lily-bud,  lily-bud,  open  be. 
Let  me  your  golden  treasure  see. 
Open  your  glowing  heart  to  me ! 

"Lily-bud,  lily-bud,  all  afloat 

On  silver  sea  a  silver  boat 

So  you  will  sail  this  moonlit  moat." 

But  the  sweet  lily-bud  better  knows 
Than  her  gold  treasure  to  disclose. 
When  hearts'  doors  open — enter  woes 


LOST 

Pray  can  you  tell  me,  little  maid, 
Of  dimpled  chin  and  cheek, 

Where  is  my  heart?  lost  or  mislaid 
For  it  in  vain  I  seek. 

I'm  in  a  very  heartless  state 
Inclined  to  think,  my  dear, 

You  stole  the  article — too  late 
The  case  is  crystal  clear ! 

But  since  the  dreadful  deed  is  done 
I'll  yield  my  claim  to  you. 

If  'twas  worth  stealing,  little  one, 
Is't  not  worth  keeping,  too? 


64 


LOVE  HAS  WINGS 

"Love  has  wings!" 

The  cynic  sings, 

Deeming  it  a  truth  that  stings  ! 

Prophet  grim 

With  vision  dim, 

All  true  lovers  pity  him! 

Let  him  sing, 

Poor  jealous  thing, 

Whom  love  flits  by  on  rosy  wing. 

Love  can  fly, 

And  that's  just  why 

He  lifts  us  upward  to  the  sky. 

He  has  power 

To  make  each  hour 

Blossom  like  a  tropic  flower. 

What  matters,  then, 
That  swift  years  ten 
Have  vanished  somewhere  beyond  ken? 

What  care  we 

Tho'  brief  they  be? 

Love  pledges  us :     "Eternity." 

65 


Bliss  he  brings 

And  softly  sings : 

"Rejoice  that  Time  and  Love  have  wings!" 


MY  PRETTY  GIRL 

All  sweet  unconsciousness — 

This  pretty  girl  o'  mine  ! 

Yet  would  one  wish  that  less 

Which  makes  her  half  divine? 

For  like  some  silent  star 

Shining  from  skies  afar, 

Not  dreaming  that  its  light 

Subdues  the  sombre  night, 

My  love  knows  not  how  fair  she  is 

But  dare  I  tell  her  this? 

Dare  I  whisper  in  her  ear: 

"How  pretty  you  are,  my  dear ! 

My  star ! 

My  dear,  how  pretty  you  are!" 


66 


GOOD-NIGHT 

Good-night !  those  simple  words  that  fall 
So  often  from  our  careless  lips — 

And  yet  they  hold  a  charm  for  all; 
Our  dream  into  the  future  dips 

Finding  a  fair  land  of  delight — 
Good-night! 

How  softly  is  the  "good-night"  said 
Some  summer  eve  of  joyous  June ! 

Low  droops  the  maiden's  rose-crowned  head; 
"Good-night — but  must  you  go  so  soon?" 

Oh,  golden  hour !     Oh,  love's  delight ! 
Good-night ! 

We  say  good-night  to  little  ones 

Whose  trustful  eyes  have  tired  grown ; 

Ah,  dimpled  daughters !  darling  sons ! 
How  tender  is  the  wistful  tone 

That  wishes  all  your  future  bright ! 
Good-night ! 

Then,  faintly  breathed,  the  last  "Good-night" 
That  comes  before  the  dreamless  sleep ; 

It  falls  upon  us  like  the  blight 
Of  cruel  frost.     Alone  we  weep 

For  vanished  loves  and  lost  delight. 
Good-night! 

67 


Courage !  dear  heart,  the  day  is  brief — 
Soon  to  us  comes  an  evening  hour 

In  which  we  say  "Good-night"  to  grief, 
And  threatening  clouds  no  longer  lower. 

All  glorious  is  the  sunset's  light ! 
Good-night ! 


"YET  A  LITTLE  WHILE" 

A  little  way  they  wander,  O  my  friend, 

The  loved  who  leave  us  lonely  sad  at  heart. 
Tears  blind  our  eyes;  we  cannot  comprehend. 

The  gates  are  closed  and  it  is  hard  to  part; 
We  learn  life's  lessons  slowly — but  one  day 

We  come  at  last  to  understand 
The  Heavenly  Father's  House  is  near  at  hand 

And  our  beloved  are  not  so  far  away ! 

Dear  friend,  be  comforted — a  little  while — 

"Slow  is  the  step  of  sorrow-laden  years?" 
I  know,  I  know.      But  still  the  loving  smile, 

The  tender  words  of  Christ  rebuke  our  tears. 
"A  little  while,"  and  tired  feet  shall  cross 

The  welcome  threshold  of  that  mansion  blest 
Where  never  enter  sorrow — labor — loss, 

But  wait  reunion — peace  and  home  and  rest ! 
Easter,  April  4,  1885. 


68 


HIS  CHOICE 

Blue  eyes !  dewy  eyes ! 

Dreamy  and  deep; 
Waking  a  lover's  sighs, 

Oh,  never  may  you  weep ! 

Brown  eyes !  trustful  eyes ! 

Tender  and  true; 
May  fairest  visions  rise 

Dear  brown  eyes  for  you ! 

Hazel  eyes!  clear  eyes! 

Changeful  and  bright. 
Oh,  may  thy  shifting  dyes 

Ne'er  lose  their  light! 

Black  eyes !  brilliant  eyes ! 

Filled  full  of  fire; 
Soon  may  you  gain  the  prize 

To  which  you  aspire ! 


"Which  do  I  love  the  best?" 
Well — let  me  see — 

Just  set  your  mind  at  rest — 
Those  that  smile  on  me ! 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  SONG 

Sweetheart,  sweetheart!  the  Spring  is  coming! 

Hear  the  swift  rush  of  swollen  streams. 
Lax  lies  Winter's  hand,  long  benumbing 

The  frightened  Earth  into  frozen  dreams. 

Sweetheart,  sweetheart!  the  world's  awaking, 
E'en  when  asleep,  it  dreamed  of  May, 

Ferns  and  flowers  out  of  silver  making 
Daisies  of  snow  on  the  crystal  spray. 

The  faithful  Earth,  the  frost  defying, 

Ne'er  forgets  its  favorites  fled; 
Its  dainty  darlings  low  are  lying. 

From  the  forest's  cheek  has  flown  the  red — 

Still,  the  bare  brown  boughs  adorning 

A  mimic  foliage  of  frost 
Sparkles  proof  on  a  sunny  morning 

That  the  soul  of  Beauty's  never  lost. 

Sweetheart,  sweetheart!  the  earth's  reviving 
For  Hope  and  Memory,  hand  in  hand, 

Face  the  future  with  smiles  surviving 

The  somber  storms  that  have  swept  the  land. 


70 


A  soft  South  breeze  my  cheek's  caressing; 

A  pioneer  blue-bird  bravely  sings; 
The  lavish  sun  a  golden  blessing 

Down  to  the  suppliant  meadows  flings. 

Sweetheart,  sweetheart!  the  brimming  river 

Is  a  symbol  of  my  heart  to  me, 
Full  of  gratitude  to  the  Giver 

Of   Spring,   songs   and  sunshine,   Love   and- 
thee! 


THE  FISH-WIFE'S  SONG 

My  fisher  lad !      My  fisher  lad  ! 

Now  sailing  on  the  sea, 
My  heart  is  sad,  my  heart  is  sad, 

When  thou  art  far  from  me. 

The  wild  waves  moan,  the  wild  waves  moan 

Upon  the  sullen  sea. 
I  sit  alone,  I  sit  alone, 

And  wait  for  night  and  thee. 

'Tis  hard  to  part,  'tis  hard  to  part, 

When  one  sails  out  to  sea ! 
Come   home,    sweetheart,    come   home,    sweet 
heart, 

Come  back  to  love  and  me  ! 


THE  LETTERS  OF  HEINE 

The  paper  quivers  with  a  painful  life — 

Pulsating  agony  in  every  line  ! 

And  is  this  all,  O  Heine?     We  divine 

A  deeper  purpose  than  a  blind,  sad  strife 

With  fate  and  God.     We  find  these  letters  rife 

With  passionate  derision — yet  they  shine 

With  love  of  liberty,  and  clear  and  fine 

Ever  a  noble  scorn,  like  a  keen  knife 

Cuts  thru  pretense  and  pompous  ignorance. 

And  tho  a  casual  and  careless  glance 

Marks  but  the  scoffer's  cynic  mask  and  sighs 

Over  a  wasted  mind  and  blighted  heart; 

To  more  discerning,  sympathetic  eyes 

One  of  Truth's  sharpest  scimitars  thou  art! 


"The  light  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea"— 
Once  said  my  darling  thoughtfully, 
"I  wonder,  love,  what  that  light  may  be?" 
I  mused  with  my  head  upon  my  hand : 
"The  light  that  was  never  on  sea  or  land? 
Is  it  light  that  dwells  in  dawn's  clear  skies? 
Or  the  solemn  light  when  the  stars  arise? 
Just  then  my  darling  looked  up  at  me, 
And  I  vowed  to  her  as  I  bent  the  knee, 
"  'Tis  the  light  of  my  darling's  eyes !" 


72 


PATIENCE 

God's  angel  Patience  walks  with  folded  wings 
And  tender  eyes  whose  tears  are  never  shed; 

Her  hands  too  busy  doing  little  things 

To  leave  their  labor  even  to  lift  in  prayer. 

Fulfilling  quietly  each  common  care 

O'er  suffering  sin  she  bends  her  haloed  head. 

Rarely  she  rests  over  her  task  undone, 

Night's  prison  doors  her  trustful  touch  unbars; 
No  weary  watch  for  the  unrisen  sun 
Is  hers;  she  does  not  lift  her  longing  eyes 
Toward  tardy  glories  of  the  Eastern  skies, 

But  dreams  of  dawn  and  works  on  'neath  the 
stars. 

Let  us  light  our  lips  with  music  and  mirth 

And  say  farewell  to  sorrow! 

For  the  night  of  grief,  like  the  eve  of  earth, 

Hath  ever  its  fair  to-morrow! 

"Night,  child,  is  dark,  and  winter  is  chill!" 

All  this,  oh,  life,  I  know, 

But  dark  its  diamond  stars  hath  still, 

Winter  its  pearls  of  snow ! 


73 


CARPE  DIEM 

Hours  that  flit  so  fast  away, 

Stay,  oh,  stay! 

Heed  my  cry !      My  arms,  extending, 

Would  fix  here  your  journey's  ending. 

Feet,  forever  forward  wending, 

Why  must  hurried  steps  obey 

Voices  of  on-rushing  years? 

While  my  tears 

Mark  my  grief,  repentance,  longing, 

To  live  o'er  the  life  I'm  wronging? 

From  swift  hours,  the  threshold  thronging 

Stern  response  my  spirit  hears : 

"Heedless  heart!     Hadst  thou  thy  will 
Wouldst  thou  fill 

With  unselfish  deeds,  pure  pleasure, 
Earnest  work,  each  moment's  measure? 
He  who  has  not  used  time's  treasure 
Added  wealth  would  squander  still." 


74 


A  PRAYER 

Hovering  over  a  city  asleep 
Forgetting  its  toil  and  care, 
Soothing  to  slumber  eyes  that  weep — 
An  angel  heard  this  prayer: 

"O  Father,  I  have  sinned;  how  dare  I  say 
Only  in  thought  to  Thee,  Most  Holy  One  ? 
What  matters  it  whether  the  deed  was  done 
Or  only  dreamed  in  a  half-hearted  way? 
Sin  is  still  sin,  and  I  have  fallen  so  low 
I  hardly  dare  lift  tear-filled  eyes  to  Thee, 
Petitioning  for  pardon,  for  I  know 
All  that  I  might  have  been  and  hope  to  be. 
Great  as  the  sin  I  find  my  punishment, 
Forevermore  my  fair  ideal  stands 
Among  the  dews  and  dawns  of  loftier  lands 
Than  this,  wherein  I've  dared  to  be  content. 
Bitter  it  is,  O  Father,  to  recall 
Days  when  I  even  dreamed  I  might 
Serve  Thee,  and  send  a  little  gleam  of  light 
Across  the  dark  world — darker  by  my  fall. 
A  fall  or  failure — either  one  is  crime 
To  the  angel  Opportunity's  clear  eyes; 
Not  to  have  done  the  best  that  in  me  lies — 
Oh,  self-indulgent  soul,  besmeared  with  slime, 
Oh,  instrument  unfit  for  Thy  great  hand, 
Am  I — and  shall  I  ask  Thee  to  retain 


75 


The  tool  that  failed  Thee?     To  have  lived  in  vain 

Is  sin;  for  none  but  cowards  ever  stand 

And  at  life's  golden  thresholds  hesitate; 

Each  great  door  on  its  mighty  hinges  stirs, 

We  turn  aside  among  the  revelers 

And  find  it  closed  when  we  return  too  late !" 

The  voice  was  lost  in  sobs;  the  prayer  was  done. 
The  pitying  Angel  wondered  as  he  went : 
"And  yet,  this  broken-hearted  penitent 
The  City  honors  as  her  noblest  sonl" 


DECEMBER  DAYS 

"Stay  with  us  for  a  little  longer !     Stay, 
O  brief,  bright  day! 
Delay  thy  going,  O  December  sun, 
Until  our  task  is  done." 

But  swiftly  from  the  darkening  skies 
The  last  light  dies, 

And  somber  twilight,  with  relentless  look, 
Closes  the  unread  book. 

A  lesson  for  our  life's  December  days — 
No  moment  stays ! 

May  we  not  vainly  mourn  the  setting  sun 
Because  of  work  undone. 


76 


NIGHT  IN  WINTER 

Desolate  is  the  day. 

I  can  hear  the  horses'  feet 

Slipping  on  the  icy  street 
As  they  cower  along  their  way 

Stung  by  the  cruel  sleet. 

Oh,  cold  and  gray  the  sky ! 

The  clouds  are  sullen  and  drear 
And  hasten  as  if  with  fear; 

Along  the  wet  hills  they  fly 
And  follow  the  flying  year. 

Just  a  moment  the  sun 

Looks  forth,  but  his  face  is  chill 
And  he  drops  behind  the  hill 

As  if  with  the  day  that  is  done 
He,  too,  were  forever  still. 

I  cannot  bear  the  night ! 

So  silent — save  for  the  beat 
Of  raw  and  remorseless  sleet 

That  covers  the  boughs  with  white 
And  mocks  the  spring-blossoms  sweet. 


77 


Oh,  for  a  night  of  peace ! 

I  long  not  for  bliss — but  rest; 

And  the  storm  within  my  breast 
With  the  winter  will  not  cease, 

Nor  flown  joy  rebuild  its  nest. 


NATURE 

A  laughing,  dimpled  face  I  see : 
"Golden-haired  Goddess  !  smile  on  me  !" 
On  bended  knee  I  humbly  sue 
One  gentle  beam  from  eyes  of  blue; 
Gayly  and  gracefully  she  bends 
Her  fair  head;  her  white  hand  extends 
Instead  of  the  faint  joy  I  seek — 
I  feel  her  kiss  upon  my  cheek ! 

A  black-browed  Goddess,  frowningly 
Fixes  her  angry  eyes  on  me; 
A  dusky  mantle  hides  the  charms 
Of  polished  shoulders,  perfect  arms; 
A  sombre  shape !     She  lifts  her  hand 
In  a  stern  gesture  of  command; 
And  when  I,  trembling,  ask  her  name, 
Behold  it  is  the  very  same ! 


WINTER  MORNING 

Thru  snow-covered  branches 

A  golden  light  glows; 
And  flush  the  far  hill-sides 

With  faint  hints  of  rose; 
From  quaint  gabled  chimneys 

Smoke  slowly  uncurls ; 
From  rose-bush  and  brier 

Flash  rubies  and  pearls. 

The  sun  rises  in  splendor, 

Displacing  the  dawn, 
Its  tints  tame  and  tender 

In  deeper  hues  drawn. 
The  icicles  crystal 

Like  lances  of  light 
Shine  out  in  the  sunbeams 

With  radiance  white. 

Oh,  beautiful  morning 

Which  blesses  our  eyes ! 
Oh,  bounteous  sunlight, 

Eternal  surprise, 
We  welcome  with  rapture ! 

Your  tremulous  ray, 
Transfigures  to  pastime 

The  duties  of  day! 

79 


"LE  ROI  EST  MORT— VIVE  LE  ROI!" 

0  waning  sunset  in  the  western  sky, 

1  mourn  no  more  that  days  must  die 
Howsoe'er  perfect  they  may  be — 
Each  leaves  behind  a  lovely  prophecy 
Of  fairer  future  years  for  you  and  me. 

Better  for  both  of  us  the  opening  year; 
It  lies  before  us — fair,  untarnished,  clear, 
No  blot  upon  its  beauty  yet — we  may 
By  brave  endeavor  keep  the  stains  away 
That  make  regret  part  of  the  passing  day. 

And  so  farewell  to  all  the  imperfect  past ! 
Thanks  to  the  Giver  of  all  Good,  at  last, 
A  year's  mistakes  and  errors  have  past  by. 
Under  the  promise  of  a  purer  sky 
Let  us  no  longer  mourn  that  days  must  die  ! 
January  I,  1887. 


80 


MARCH 

What  is  your  message,  O  month  of  storm? 

Mother  of  mighty  winds  that  wail 
About  the  houses  where  safe  and  warm 

Wide-eyed  children  listen  to  sleet  and  hail 
Beating  on  roof  and  window-pane, 
Or  the  sudden  downward  dash  of  rain. 

And  then,  again,  speaks  a  velvet  voice — 
A  Day  comes  stealing  up  from  the  South, 

Into  our  hearts  which  she  bids  rejoice 
Pansies  her  eyes  and  a  rose  her  mouth, 

Her  robe  of  azure  with  sunlight  laced 

A  girdle  of  violets  'round  her  waist. 

And  we  cry  in  wonder :     "Where  is  March  ?" 

Only  to  see  her  veiled  with  rain 
Falling,  anew,  from  the  sky's  dim  arch! 

For  the  golden  maiden  we  seek  in  vain, 
Our  Day  fled  far  to  the  Southern  land 
Whence  April  shall  lead  her  by  the  hand. 


81 


APRIL 

Light  of  heart  is  the  world!  the  clover 
Wakens  with  joy  from  her  wintry  dreams, 
A  happy  life  rushes,  and  shouts,  and  gleams 
In  the  glad  free  song  of  unshackled  streams. 
The  bird  sings  his  gratitude  over  and  over ! 
Bright  April  days ! 

Busy,  brown  bees  hurry  and  hover 

Over  the  earliest  blossoming; 

What  subtle  fragrance  the  swift  airs  bring! 

But  I,  alone,  have  no  heart  to  sing. 

My  spirit's  secret  unrest  can  you  discover, 

Blithe  April  days? 


ANEMONES 

Once,  as  I  walked  in  a  vernal  hour, 
Where  anemones  fringed  the  way, 

Up  sprang  in  my  heart  a  tiny  flower, 
As  fair,  and  tender,  and  frail  as  they. 

The  rain  and  sunshine  of  rolling  years 
Bring  back  blossoms  to  grove  and  glen; 

But,  ah !  what  April  of  smiles  and  tears 
Can  ever  make  dead  dreams  bloom  again? 

82 


Low  whispers  Nature :     "Never  the  old 

Anemones  may  star  the  sod! 
Let  fresh  hopes  and  new  flowers  unfold 

In  sunlight  of  spring  and  the  smile  of  God!" 


VIOLET 

Blue-eyed  blossom !  beguiling 

My  lips  into  singing 
Your  praises,  half  smiling 

At  the  thought  I  am  bringing 
A  story  you've  heard 

Until  it  must  tire ! 
Yet,  does  ever  the  bird 

Stop  his  song  to  enquire 
How  many  before  him 

Have  sung  the  same  strain? 
With  summer  skies  o'er  him 

Does  he  ever  complain 
Because  buds  are  many  they  blossom  in  vain? 

So,  with  the  rest,  I'll  venture  to  forget 

My  praise  is  nothing  new,  fair  vestal  Violet! 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS 

Pink-cheeked  little  daughter 

Of  the  May! 
The  South- Wind  has  sought  her 

All  the  way 

From  the  lands  where  languid  lilies  sway 
Dreamily  thruout  the  drowsy  day, 

Leaving  tropic  splendor, 

Flying  fleet, 
Till  wood-mosses  tender 

Touch  his  feet 

And  the  Arbutus-blossoms  shy  and  sweet 
With  a  blush  and  smile  his  coming  greet ! 


APPLE  BLOSSOMS 

A  gnarled  old  apple-tree  the  winter  long 

Has  stood  with  sullen  seeming,  hoary,  grim, 

Like  vanquished  veteran  brooding  o'er  his  wrong; 
But  see  !  the  soft-voiced  Spring  has  flattered  him 

Into  the  fond  belief  that  he  is  young  and  fair! 
And  so  he  diadems  his  ancient  forehead  dim, 

With  fragrant,  rosy  crown  she  coaxes  him  to  wear. 


A  DAY  OF  DREAMS 

Dearest  of  autumn  days, 

Thou'rt  only  made  for  dreaming! 
Thru  perfect,  purple  haze 

Are  sun-kissed  maples  gleaming; 
Clear  cascades,  downward  streaming, 
Lose  half  their  restless  seeming, 
And  the  spray  more  softly  sways. 

Ev'ry  sunbeam's  a  smile, 

With  tender  meaning  freighted; 
And  the  wide  Earth  the  while — 

Tho  soon  to  snow-drifts  fated — 
Looks  just  as  if  she  waited 
Glad  news,  with  heart  elated, 
From  some  far,  fortunate  isle. 

So  lovely  nature  seems, 

No  blot  its  beauty  staining; 
Soft  haze  and  golden  gleams 

My  humbled  heart  restraining, 
Hush  all  of  its  complaining, 
And  leave  no  wish  remaining 
For  a  fairer  day  of  dreams. 
1880. 


8.? 


SEPTEMBER  SONG 

In  her  brown  robe  gaily  bordered 
With  gold  and  scarlet  leaves  embroidered 
Sweet  September  stands 
With  extended  hands. 

Days  to  dream  of  and  remember 
Are  these  bright  hours  of  September 
As  she  casts  her  gold 
To  those  beggars  bold, 

The  ragged  roadside  weeds  and  bushes, 
Till  the  poorest  of  them  pushes 
A  resplendent  crown 
Thru  its  leaves  of  brown. 

Ripe  fruit,  grain  in  generous  measure 
Scattered  at  September's  pleasure 
In  vineyard,  orchard,  field, 
Stores  of  gladness  yield. 

Grant  a  grace  to  good  September ! 
Long  her  lavish  gifts  remember, 
Let  her  bounty  cheer 
The  remaining  year ! 


86 


OCTOBER 

Oh,  this  glad  October  day! 

Curious  sunbeams  softly  swing 
Into  spots  long  hid  away 

Under  thickets  blossoming. 

Not  a  leaf  stirs — save  to  fall 
Noiselessly  upon  the  ground. 

Out  from  grasses  brown  and  tall 
Not  a  rustle — not  a  sound. 

And  the  day,  its  sky  serene, 
Its  rich  fruitage  and  its  rest, 

Golden  light  and  stillness,  mean 
Hearts  are  mute  when  happiest! 


A  ROSE 

I 

The  gates  of  the  morning 
Flung  open  disclose 

A  garden  all  glowing 
Where  groweth  a  rose. 

II 

The  dawn's  dewy  rosebud 
At  noon  doth  unfold, 

And  shows  its  heart's  secret 
Of  scarlet  and  gold. 

8? 


Ill 

Red  petals  lie  scattered 
Along  Western  skies — 

Its  brief  life  is  blossomed — 
The  Day  flower  dies! 


SONG 

Little  brown  leaf,  why  flit  so  fast 
Like  a  frightened  child  before  the  blast? 
Stay  your  swift  flight  and  drop  to  rest 
A  moment  upon  the  mother's  breast ! 

Here  is  a  cradle  fit  for  kings ! 

The  soft-voiced  pine  forest  ever  sings, 

Most  musically,  lullabies, 

Wooing  to  slumber  the  weary  eyes. 

The  cover  is  a  gorgeous  one, 
Silver  lace,  by  busy  spiders  spun ; 
Across  the  gold  and  crimson  leaves 
With  sunbeam  shuttle  the  Summer  weaves. 

Jack  Frost,  the  dyer,  used  his  store 
Of  hues  to  make  richer  than  e'er  before; 
Little  leaf — you  must  rest  at  last 
Somewhere — then,  why  do  you  flit  so  fast? 


88 


THANKSGIVING 

I 

In  the  garden  of  days, 
Is  one  all  men  praise ! 
"What  are  its  hours?" 
Bunches  of  flowers! 
For  the  minutes  are  roses ! 

"Would  that  I  could  crush  their  sweetness 
Into  some  deed  of  rich  completeness!" 
Thy  wish  but  discloses 
Impatience  of  mood, 
For  all  that  is  good 

Grows  slowly,  without  observation. 

Unhurried  the  steps  of  Creation! 

Be  content  to  obey 

The  laws  of  right  living 

And  every  day 

Will  be  one  of  Thanksgiving! 

II 

When  the  wan  earth  warms  her  fingers  cold 

At  the  sunset's  dying  embers; 
When  bare  trees  shiver,  and  winds  are  bold 
Gorged  with  the  forest's  wealth  of  gold; 

What  comfort  is  sad  November's? 


89 


Of  the  glad  year  is  November  king! 

Since  love  is  the  best  part  of  living, 
To  the  dear  home-feast  the  heart  must  cling; 
Let  memory  and  affection  sing 

The  happiness  of  Thanksgiving. 

What  matter  tho  winds  are  chill  and  drear 

As  we  gratefully  remember 
Joyous  reunions  and  household  cheer? 
For  the  golden,  glowing  heart  of  the  year 

Beats  in  the  breast  of  November ! 
1894. 


WINTER 

"A  white,  white  world !"  I  said. 
"A  ghostly  world  and  dead. 
Where  are  the  flowers  fled? 

"Gloomy  and  gray  the  sky, 
Drear  night  is  drawing  nigh, 
The  breeze  is  but  a  sigh. 

"Above  its  fallen  leaves 
The  lonely  forest  grieves, 
No  peace  my  pain  reprieves. 

"More  sad  than  ever  grows 
The  memory  of  a  rose 
Buried  beneath  the  snows." 

90 


Weary,  I  bowed  my  head. 
"Ghost  of  life's  gladness  dead 
,Why  haunt  my  heart?"  I  said. 

"Souls  of  dead  dreams  once  mine 
Frosts'  phantom  flowers  shine 
Cold,  cruel,  crystalline ! 

"But  see!  beyond  the  cold, 
Grown  in  a  garden  gold, 
A  heavenly  rose  unfold! 

"Over  the  flushing  snows 
Glorious  color  glows 
Vision  of  vanished  rose ! 

"O  wondrous  world!"  I  cried. 
"Transfigured,  glorified, 
Better  than  bliss  denied !" 

Sweet  was  the  sense  of  rest, 
Humbly  my  heart  confessed 
That  even  loss  is  best. 

When  from  my  longing  eyes 
Vanish  the  sunset  skies 
Shall  the  still  stars  arise. 

"Better  than  love's  rose  dead; 
Dreams  of  ambition  fled; 
Is  sweet  content!"  I  said. 


A  CHRISTMAS  SONG 

The  cheer  of  Christmas  fills  the  air. 
Courage !  kind  hearts  are  everywhere 
Shining  from  faces  worn  with  care. 

Toil-hardened  hands  love-laden  are 
With  gifts  for  children.      Fair  and  far 
O'er  sad  hearts  rises  Bethlehem's  star. 

The  restless  feet  that  fill  the  way 
With  eager  music,  seem  to  say : 
"How  rich  in  love  is  Christmas  Day!" 

This  is  the  glad  hour's  highest  good, 
The  bond  of  helpful  brotherhood 
By  many  dimly  understood. 

Moved  by  its  impulse,  none  the  less 
The  selfish  give,  and  learn  to  bless 
The  season  of  unselfishness  ! 

Listen  !  the  birthday  song  again ! 
An  angel  chorus,  sweet  as  when 
Proclaiming :     "Peace — good  will  to  men  !" 


92 


CHRISTMAS 

Is  it  well  with  the  world? 
The  snow  lieth  deep 
And  the  rose  is  asleep 
In  its  winter-robe  curled. 
All  tucked  out  of  sight 
Under  down  soft  and  white. 
It  is  well  with  the  world ! 

Is  it  well  with  the  heart? 
Defying  the  snow 
The  heart  is  aglow, 
For  one  day  it  is  part 
Of  Humanity's  stream; 
Nor  is  love  but  a  dream 
For  it  beats  in  each  heart. 

Is  it  well  with  the  world? 
Let  children  reply ! 
Hear  the  rapturous  cry. 
War's  fierce  flag  is  furled, 
Peace  crowns  Love  as  king- 
And  at  Christmas  we  sing: 
It  is  well  with  the  world ! 


93 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD 
Man.  XV III,  2-10 

"His  little  ones!"  ah,  how  dare  we 
Treat  with  less  reverence  than  He 
These  fragile  blossoms  of  humanity? 

O,  may  we  nevermore  offend 

His  little  ones,  but  show  unto  the  end 

A  faint  reflection  of  the  Perfect  Friend. 

The  friend  of  sinners.     We  adore 

The  spotless  robe  of  purity  He  wore 

And  yet  His  sternest  words  were  :  "Sin  no  more  !" 

Since  Christ  did  not  condemn,  can  we 

Cast  the  first  stone  of  censure  when  we  see 

How  "spotted  from  the  world"  our  garments  be? 

Oh,  blind  eyes !      Cruel  hearts  of  stone 
Hear  our  rebuke  in  that  deep  tender  tone 
That  could  come  from  the  lips  of  love  alone ! 

"Take  heed  that  ye  do  not  despise 
These  little  ones  whose  angel  eyes 
Behold  my  Father's  face  in  Paradise!" 

"A  lesson  of  humility?" 

Not  so  I     We  may  be  proud  to  be 

As  little  children  welcomed  tenderly! 

94 


FIDES  EST  FORTIS 

When  day  was  young  I  sought  the  studio 

Of  a  great  artist.      "Paint  me  Faith!"  I  cried, 

"Faith  clinging  to  the  cross  of  Christ."     "Not  so. 
Yet  I  will  paint  her  for  thee,"  he  replied. 

And  from  the  dreams  that  dwell  within  his  eyes 

I  saw  a  thought  awake,  and  smiling  rise. 

And  when  I  came  again,  behold !  a  face 

Flashed  white  against  a  black  cloud,  strong  and 

stern, 
No  tearful,  gentle,  pleading  look,  no  grace, 

Yet  those  deep  eyes  into  my  being  burn. 
"Why  is  she   sad  and  strong?     Why  must  she 

stand 

Facing    the    dark    with    outstretched    toil-worn 
hand?" 

"For  Faith  to  know,  mars  her  sublimity, 

For  Faith  to  cling,  her  courage.     She  is  brave 

And  dares  the  dreadful  depths  of  mystery, 
And  with  a  stern  smile  challenges  the  grave. 

O'er  her  the  shadow  of  the  Cross  is  thrown 

And  by  that  symbol,  she  is  not  alone." 


95 


I  looked  again,  and  lo !  a  mighty  cross 

Grew  on  my  sight  from  out  the  background  dim, 

The  mystic  sign  of  infinite  love  and  loss. 

"Is  Grief  Love's  shadow  then?     Do  tears  that 
brim 

Our  eyes  shut  out  the  sunshine  of  His  smile?" 

"We  learn  it  late — Faith  felt  it  all  the  while." 


TO  A  PHARISEE 

Looking  down  into  the  loathsome  drain 

I  saw  the  sky, 
And  one  pure  star  in  its  purple  plain 

Shone  still  and  high. 
The  star  of  peace  that  we've  sought  in  vain 

May  near  us  lie! 

May  lurk,  unseen,  in  some  soul  forgiv'n, 

Patience  awhile ! 
The  penitent  heart  with  anguish  riven 

Dare  we  call  vile? 
Look  into  it  for  a  glimpse  of  Heaven 

And  Christ's  own  smile ! 


96 


KEATS 

Unhappy  poet !     Greek  born  out  of  time  ! 
As  if  the  soul  of  sweet  Anacreon 
His  sandals  wet  with  England's  dew,  upon 
Her  chalky  cliffs  had  sung  an  alien  rhyme 
With  burning  brain  and  heart  unsatisfied. 
We  almost  hear  thy  sobbing  as  we  read 
Until  we  long  for  power  to  still  thy  need 
And  grant  thee  all  the  bliss  stern  life  denied; 
As  an  ^Eolian  harp  in  cypress  shade 
By  viewless  hands  of  zephyr  softly  played, 
Storms  break  the  slender  strings  and  so  release 
A  mightier  music — tortured  soul  of  sound! 
Life  was  thy  Lamia,  Keats;  hast  thou  not  found 
In  arms  of  kinder  Death,  rest,  love  and  peace? 


STAR-LIGHT 

And  stars  shall  rise  when  day  is  done. 
Shall  we,  then,  mourn  the  sunken  sun? 
The  stars  are  suns !     Uplift  your  eyes 
To  the  still  splendor  of  the  skies. 
'Tis  God's  great  answer  to  our  pain: 
"Unrest  and  longing  are  in  vain; 
Be  patient,  sad  and  shadowed  hearts, 
When  joy's  bold  radiance  departs; 
And  ever,  as  the  sunshine  dies, 
Soft  twilight  comes,  and  stars  shall  rise 


97 


WITH  US  STILL 

Alone — and  yet  not  so ! 

Sweet  Nature's  face 
Peeps  into  every  room.     A  whisper  low 

Breathes  through   the   leaves   about   the   quiet 

place 
And  I  am  not  alone.     Ah,  no !     Ah,  no ! 

And  gentle  voices  break 

Upon  my  ears; 
My  listening,  longing  soul  at  once  awake, 

The  music  of  their  loving  message  hears 
And  all  my  heart  is  glad  for  their  dear  sake. 

"The  loved  and  gone?"      Not  so! 

The  loved  and — here. 
I  almost  catch  their  breathing  soft  and  low, 

The  rustle  of  their  robes — they  are  so  near! 
I  long  to  hold  their  hands  nor  let  them  go  ! 


NOT  AS  I  WILL 

Not  as  I  will,  O  Father !      Should  I  choose, 
Never  a  cloud  might  cross  my  summer  sky; 

I  might  forget  the  need  of  cooling  dews 

And  all  my  cherished  flowers  might  fade  and  die 

Lacking  the  largesse  of  adversity. 

98 


Not  as  I  will.     I  would  not  dare  direct 
My  destiny  one  brief  December  day. 

Whether  it  be  Thy  pleasure  to  protect 

My  life  from  pain,  or  not,  help  me  to  say, 
"Not  as  I  will."     And  may  I  ever  pray 

Tho  sorrows'  sword  be  driven  to  the  hilt 

Within  my  heart,  "Dear  Father,  as  Thou  wilt." 


AT  THE  THRESHOLD 

Oh,  golden  days  of  childhood !     I  look  back 
Upon  you  as  upon  some  perfumed  Spring 
When  each  new  day  a  new  delight  doth  bring 
As  simple,  fresh  and  sweet  as  violets  are, 
Or  flowering  grass  with  its  one  silver  star. 
No  element  of  loveliness  you  lack 
Departed  days! 

I  could  not,  if  I  would,  your  peace  o'erpraise. 
Joys  came  like  wild-birds  welcome  tho  unsought, 
And  all  that  made  my  waking  life  so  worth 
The  living,  was  the  bright,  unspoken  thought, 
"I  have  a  father  in  heaven  and  one  on  earth." 

Oh,  untried  years  before  me  !     I  look  out 
Upon  you  thru  a  melancholy  mist, 
The  landscape  lost  in  mystery,  nor  kissed 
By  any  beam  of  hope;  the  tenderness 
Which  sorrow  may  conceal,  I  only  guess 


99 


But  cannot  see,  and  groping  forth  in  doubt 
"My  God,"  I  pray, 

"Hold  thou  my  hand  along  the  lonely  way 
Where  only  frost-flowers  grow  on  hedges  white." 
For  just  as  I  had  learned  its  priceless  worth 
A  light  was  quenched  that  left  me  in  the  night 
I  have  two  fathers  in  heaven  and  none  on  earth. 


TURGUENIEFF 

\ 

O  mountain  spirit  of  our  level  age  ! 

O  master  of  the  matchless  skill 

Which  bends  emotion  to  thy  will 

And  firmly  fixes  on  poetic  page 

Pictures  of  life  that  wake  an  answering  thrill. 

O  grand  and  mighty  voice  !  How  have  we  dared 
Assume  that  we  could  comprehend 
The  heart  that  held  humanity  its  friend, 
And  in  its  desperate  endeavor  shared, 
Pitying,  forgiving,  loving  to  the  end. 

Ingratitude  thy  royal  spirit  tried, 

Thy  guerdon  was  an  exile's  grave 

For  service  so  sincere  and  brave. 

No  lance  of  light  the  darkness  doth  divide. 

Savior  of  serfs,  thyself  thou  couldst  not  save  ! 


100 


When  Germany  forgot  her  giant  debt 

To  gifted  souls,  and  granted  grace 

To  the  base  prejudice  of  race — 

A  great  heart  broke  that  might  be  beating  yet, 

And  who  can  fill  Auerbach's  empty  place? 

So  Russia  shows  her  gratitude  to  thee ! 
Her  noblest,  dying  in  a  distant  land; 
And  yet,  what  empty  honor  from  her  hand 
Is  worth  thy  fame,  which  evermore  shall  be 
The  guiding  star  of  Freedom's  gallant  band? 

Turguenieff  !  myriad  hearts  are  thine 

In  the  New  World,  and  proud  to  own 

Allegiance  to  a  lord  who  rules  alone 

By  royal  manhood's  right  divine; 

Love  is  thy  sceptre,  truth  thy  crystal  throne ! 


"AND  THE  LIFE  WAS  THE  LIGHT  OF 

MEN" 

I 

Dark  were  the  days  of  old,  dark  as  if  God  had 

forgotten 
The  world  He  had  made  and  all  His  suffering 

children. 
Life  was  a  riddle  unread  and  the  gloomy  grave 

was  no  answer, 
Life  meant  loneliness  then,  and  Love  unsatisfied 

longing. 


101 


II 

Dawned  from  the  darkness  at  last  the  light  of  a 
new  revelation 

Mighty,  yet  tender  and  true  as  the  Master  who 
made  it  immortal. 

Lingered  the  light,  and  lay  along  the  path  of  the 
ages, 

Uncertainly  followed  at  first,  but  soon  the  foot 
steps  grow  firmer; 

Now  the  broadening  beams  are  disclosing  the 
bounteous  harvests, 

Showing  the  beauty  of  earth,  dear  pledge  of  the 
beauty  of  heaven, 

Touching  with  tender  tints  the  hills  on  the  West 
ern  horizon, 

Beautiful  hills  of  hope  from  whose  unattained 
summits 

Unseen  slopes  will  lead  down,  when  we  shall  have 
reached  them 

Into  a  land  of  love  and  the  fair  fields  of  fulfill 
ment. 


102 


DRUBEN  AM  WIESENRAND 

Translated  from  a  poem  by  an  unknown  Austrian 
Soldier 

Far  on  the  meadow  land — 

Two  daws  are  hiding — 
Shall  I  fall  on  Danube's  strand, 

Or  in  Poland  riding? 
What  matters  where  my  grave? 
E'er  they  shall  free  my  soul 
I'll  fight  like  soldier  brave  ! 

There  on  the  furrowed  field 
Two  ravens  are  crying — 

Shall  I  be  first  to  yield 
Fallen  and  dying? 

What  is  the  difference? 

Thousands  and  thousands  ride 

In  Austria's  defence ! 

Right  across  the  sunset-red 

Two  crows  are  flying — 
When  comes  the  Reaper  dread? 

Scythe  there's  no  denying? 
What  matters  it  to  me  ? 
Our  banners  wave  and  sweep 
On  to  Belgrade,  I  see! 
1915. 


103 


SONG 

A  nightingale  fell  in  love  with  a  star 
Reflected  down  in  the  deep  water — 

A  wandering  bard's  my  fortunes  are 
And  I  love  the  Sultan's  daughter. 

As  I  sang  in  the  Sultan's  court  one  day 
His  daughter  dropped  me  a  flower 

In  a  half-caressing,  half-careless  way 
That  chained  me  with  magic  power. 

The  Sultan's  daughter's  eyes  are  dark 
But  sunny  and  bright  her  tresses, 

Her  smile  in  a  ray  of  sunshine,  mark! 
And  whatever  it  falls  on  blesses. 

The  songster  could  not  fly  up  to  the  sky 
Nor  the  star  drop  down  from  heaven. 

But  he  sang  his  songs  to  her  (that's  why 
The  nightingales  sing  at  even). 

The  bird  did  not  dream  to  wed  the  star 
But  sang  every  night  by  the  water, 

So  I  will  worship  and  sing  from  afar 
Unseen  by  the  Sultan's  daughter. 


Written  at  the  age  of  eight  years. 
IO4 


LARAMIE 

In  the  arms  of  the  hills 
Storms  threaten  in  vain, 

Lies  loveliest  Laramie, 
Pearl  of  the  plain. 

If  she  looks  to  the  east 
A  breastwork  of  hills; 

West — the  Medicine  Bow 
Guards  her  from  ills. 

Her  namesake — the  river — 
Has  gladdened  with  grain 

The  Gem  of  the  Rockies, 
Pearl  of  the  plain! 

May  brightest  skies  ever 
Above  her  head  bend; 

No  storm  of  misfortune 
Upon  her  descend ! 

And  we — all  who  love  her — 
Rejoice  in  each  gain 

That  waits  lovely  Laramie, 
Pearl  of  the  plain! 


105 


CAMP  AT  LAKE  MOUNTAIN 

We  sang  along  the  mountain  road 
That  thru  the  light  and  shadows  flowed, 
While  down  the  slope  forever  strode 
Endless  processions  of  the  pine. 
Above,  the  sky's  resplendent  shine, 
Around,  the  whisper :     "You  are  mine ! 

"Neglected  long — misunderstood — 
Nature  would  teach  you  all  things  good, 
Learn  the  deep  lore  of  lake  and  wood." 
Wider  grew  our  horizon  lines ; 
The  mountains  sentinelled  with  pines 
Showed  barren  spurs,  all  scarred  by  mines. 

Then  little  parks  with  vivid  grass; 
Over  them  light  and  shadow  pass 
In  noiseless  flight.     The  frowning  mass 
Of  sombre  forest,  granite  wall, 
They  do  not  seem  to  fear  at  all ! 
The  baby  brooks  laugh  as  they  fall. 

Then  up  again,  with  merry  song 

Carrying  as  they  dance  along 

Grains  of  gold — yet  unstained  by  wrong. 

Why  should  these  shining  flecks  cause  strife 

Or  ever  curse  a  human  life 

With  avarice?     The  wood  is  rife 

106 


With  treasures  beautiful  as  they! 
The  emerald  moss  along  the  way 
And  ruby  berries  on  the  spray. 
Why  should  we  e'en  remember  care? 
Breathing  this  vital  mountain  air 
The  soul  finds  perfect  freedom  where 

Great  nature  builds  a  house  for  her 

With  stately  columns  of  the  fir 

And  arabesques  of  juniper. 

Its  echoing  halls  are  vaster  far 

Than  any  trod  by  king  or  czar, 

More  richly  carved.     How  tall  they  are ! 

We  lie  upon  the  mountain's  breast 
Watching  the  wonders  of  the  west, 
Importunate  questions  stilled  to  rest. 
O  life  of  freedom!     Glad  release 
When  all  perplexing  problems  cease 
And  we  drink  a  deeper  draught  of  peace. 

How  lovely  looks  the  world  from  here ! 
Unsightlinesses  disappear, 
Discordant  sounds  we  cannot  hear; 
Just  the  sweet  murmurs  of  the  brook 
Below  in  some  fern-feathered  nook, 
The  prattle  of  the  pines.     We  look 

Across  the  wide  plains  lying  at  our  feet, 
The  summer  air  all  shimmering  with  heat, 
Find  the  far  city  fair — existence  sweet. 

107 


The  lavish  largesse  of  the  sunset  spent, 
We  hastened  home,  at  last,  to  fire  and  tent. 
To  peak  and  forest,  night  new  magic  lent. 

The  evening  sky  with  unguessed  splendors  filled 
Day's  golden  cup;  its  ruby  wine  had  spilled 
As  if  our  royal  host,  the  mountain,  willed 
To  give  our  perfect  day  a  close  divine. 
The  forest  darkened  and  we  saw  the  shine 
Of  tangled  stars  in  tresses  of  the  pine. 

O  friends  about  that  campfire !     Still  we  hear 
Each  laugh  and  song  and  jest  that  echoed  clear, 
And  still  the  firelight  shines  on  faces  dear ! 
Still  thru  the  forest  arches  dark  and  grim 
Floats  the  fearless  spirit  of  some  sweet  old  hymn 
Of  gratitude  to  God.     Within  the  dim 
Walls  of  the  world  that  rise  so  gray  and  stern, 
As  in  the  fairy  haunts  of  flowers  and  fern, 
Campfires  of  friendship  and  of  memory  burn! 


108 


CAYUGA  LAKE 

Among  the  green  hills 
A  summer  nap  taking 

The  lovely  lake  lies 

Nor  dreams  of  awaking. 

She  looks  as  she  lies 

Like  Princess  enchanted. 

A  hundred  long  years 
To  Morpheus  granted! 

From  blue  skies  above 

Star  eyes  without  number 

Gaze  anxiously  down 

And  guard  her  deep  slumber. 

Around  her  the  hills 

Their  silent  watch  keeping 
Grow  weary  at  last 

And  they  too  are  sleeping. 

The  Fairy  Prince  comes 
As  dawn  the  East  flushes; 

At  kiss  of  the  Sun 

The  lake  wakes  with  blushes  ! 


109 


ON  THE  ST.  JOHNS 

Slowly  we  sail  up  the  mystical  river 

Magic  with  moonlight,  sombre  with  shade; 

Stirred  by  the  night  wind  the  tall  grasses  shiver, 
Of  their  own  trembling  shadows  afraid! 

And  we  find  not  one  but  three  rivers  flowing 
In  the  dim  midnight  down  to  the  sea. 

Two  of  them  dark,  and  one  of  gold  showing 
Where  the  steps  of  the  silver  moon  shall  be. 

At  our  approach  by  the  pathway  golden 

Sentinel  cypress  on  either  hand 
Start  out  from  the  forest  so  weird  and  olden 

Guarding  the  gate  to  a  lovely  land. 

Shielding  fair  Florida !  Shy  forest  maiden, 
Blue-eyed  lakes  laughing  thru  moss-veiled  pine; 

Slender,  sun-kissed  fingers  with  flowers  laden, 
Have  you  room  for  homage?  Here  is  mine ! 


no 


MOUNTAIN  TEACHING 

I  saw  the  Mountains  lie 
Like  a  bit  of  bluer  sky 

Along  the  horizon's  rim 
Dreamlike,  distant  and  dim. 

Hope,  at  their  beauty,  stirred 
And  whispered  a  soft,  sweet  word : 

I  thought,  as  I  drew  near : 
"What  an  inspiration  here  ! 

"Like  birds  on  sunlit  wing 
One's  very  thoughts  must  sing. 

"What  an  impulse  to  poets'  Art 
When  one  lives  in  an  opal's  heart! 

"Locked  amid  color  and  light 
What  could  not  the  dullest  write?" 

The  mountains  drew  nearer  still, 
And  they  wrought  their  royal  will. 

White  and  serene  and  high, 
Their  foreheads  touched  the  sky, 

in 


But  their  cheeks  were  scarred  with  tears 
And  the  furrows  of  untold  years. 

Then  the  outlines  of  amethyst 
Were  shrouded  in  soft,  gray  mist. 

I  sit  at  the  mountains'  feet — 
Their  moods  are  many  and  sweet. 

A  new  charm  in  every  change. 
But  a  silence  deep  and  strange 

Has  touched  my  lips  like  a  hand. 
I  begin  to  understand 

The  dark  pines'  plaintive  tongue. 
But  my  songs  are  not  yet  sung 

Listening  still  to  the  psalm 

Of  the  mountains  grand  and  calm, 

And  Self  has  sought  its  nest 
Hushed  like  a  bird  to  rest. 


112 


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